


Into The West

by Grundy



Series: Daughters of Celebrían [8]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-12 19:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9086014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: After the War of the Ring, the Ringbearers departed Middle Earth. Tindomiel, formerly known as Dawn, went with them.





	1. The Grey Havens

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays, all. I'm doing a "12 Days of Christmas" mini-ficathon again this year. So far it's all in the "Daughters of Celebrian" 'verse, but I may or may not bounce back to the First Age at some point.

Tindomiel took a deep breath.

This was it. The day they would sail.

She’d never been to Mithlond before, but it would not be much longer before they reached the harbor. The ship was waiting. Ada had no wish to linger on the edge of the sea. There was no need – not since Makalaurë no longer haunted the shores – and for both Ada and Grandmother, this journey had been long awaited, even before the power of the Three had failed.

Besides, it would be hard on her older brothers and sister to prolong the parting. Bidding farewell to Estel and Arwen and the baby in Minas Tirith had been the hardest thing Tindomiel had ever done, worse even than saying goodbye to Xander, Willow, and Anya had been. She had cried for days on the way home, and had expected the journey from Imladris to be similarly miserable with the imminent parting from her older brothers and Anariel.

But astonishingly, Anariel and the twins had been remarkably cheerful about the journey to Mithlond, and kept telling Tindomiel how great it was that she would be the first to do something for a change instead of the last.

As though he had heard her thoughts, Elrohir guided his horse close enough to nudge her playfully and made a ridiculous face.

She tried not to giggle out loud. Her big brothers really were the best. She was riding with Elladan, who had insisted vehemently that he be allowed that privilege, since the next time he saw her, she would be an adult, and doubtless consider herself too grownup to share a horse.

He had also won the three-way Rock, Paper, Scissors tournament her older siblings held to settle the matter, since all three had wanted the honor. Anariel had pouted a little at losing, but announced that it was ok as long as she got the last hug before they boarded the ship. She had Tasariel with her, while Califiriel rode with Elrohir.

All three elflings had been thoroughly cosseted for the past few weeks by all those Imladrim who were not sailing yet, many of whom did not conceal how sad they were to see them go. Tindomiel could swear Lindir had actually cried as he watched the family ride out from her father’s house. Her brothers and sister were the sole exception – they seemed to be genuinely happy for her.

Tindomiel hadn’t quite figured them out yet. If they were acting, they were doing a remarkably good job of it, because she hadn’t been able to catch so much as a watery eye or even a trace of unhappiness in their minds. She didn’t understand it at all. If they thought sailing was such an exciting thing to do, why had they agreed to stay in Middle Earth with Arwen?

Even knowing that there was a very finite limit on how much longer the three of them would stay didn’t help. If anything, she would have thought that would make it worse, knowing that Arwen now had only the years of a mortal lifetime – and one that was close to half over already, at that. While leaving Arwen behind was awful, wouldn’t it have been easier to make a clean break and make the journey West together as a family?

It wasn’t just her brothers and Anariel who weren’t sailing yet. Grandfather was staying behind as well. He had not come with them from Imladris, though, electing instead to say his farewells there. Her brothers had prodded Tindomiel into putting on a smile and waving as they left him behind, when really she just wanted to beg him to come with them. Grandmother had been waiting to go home for three ages, and it had to hurt her to be going without her husband.

In her heart, Tindomiel was certain if she’d turned teary eyes on Celeborn, his resolve would have crumbled. She couldn’t see why he should stay, not when even Gildor was sailing. If her brothers and sisters still needed adult oversight, Thranduil would probably stay in Middle Earth until he became one with the trees.

She’d been cranky with her brothers for several days of the ride to Mithlond for keeping her from persuading their grandfather to come. The galadhrim could have packed his things for him, or Anariel. It wasn’t like she made a habit of staying home for very long, and would likely continue to visit Lothlorien with or without him there.

 _Think cheerful thoughts, Tinu. This should be a happy day, not a pouty one_ , her grandmother’s voice rang in her head. _Particularly with your brother right there – do you wish him to remember you brooding on his cruelty for the next yen?_

Sneaking a glance at Galadriel, Tindomiel found she had raised a single immaculate eyebrow.

Ok, Grandmother was probably right. And probably going to talk to her more about it once they were on the ship. She had observed the tussle among her elder grandchildren over who got to have their baby sister ride with them on the last leg of the journey to Mithlond with amusement, and was not about to interfere with Elladan’s hard-won privilege.

“Look, little one,” Elladan said softly. “There is the entrance, just there.”

The towers, being elvish in design, blended with the surrounding landscape well enough that Tindomiel would not have noticed them from this distance had her brother not pointed them out.

“There is no need to be nervous,” Elrohir assured her. “Cirdan does not eat elflings. Nor do his mariners. At least, we _assume_ they do not…”

“Ro, you’re being ridiculous, stop it,” Anariel said, tossing an acorn at him.

“Elfling behaving badly!” Elrohir yelped, ducking extravagantly, while Tasariel giggled at his antics.

“Our brother may be silly, but he is also right,” Elladan whispered in her ear. “There is no need to be nervous. Just think, very soon you will get to meet all the kin you have written to these past years.”

That had sounded a lot more exciting a few weeks ago, but now all she can think about is she is going to have to leave behind her stupid, overprotective big brothers and the older sisters who dote on her and guard her like she’s something rare and fragile, just like she left Grandfather behind.

 _There will be grandparents waiting for you in Aman_ , Anariel told her privately. _They’re looking forward to meeting you._

Tindomiel wondered how she could sound so certain.

 _Cause I’ve talked to Grandmother’s father before_ , Anariel admitted.

Tindomiel sat up straighter, torn between amazed that such a thing was even possible with the veil of the West between them and aggravation that her sister had never seen fit to mention this fact before.

 _It’s not a regular occurance_ , Anariel said wryly. _It’s really hard to do. But when they get worried enough over there, he finds a way to make it possible._

And just like that, Tindomiel was back to giggles, because it wasn’t hard to figure out why it’s Anariel their kin would be so worried about. She’s almost gotten herself killed several times since coming to Middle Earth, not that Tindomiel thinks their family in the Undying Lands would know about most of those incidents.

Her sister knew how to keep her own counsel. Heck, she hadn’t even mentioned the whole Mordor thing to their parents until twenty years later because she didn’t want them to freak out. Well, that and she’d probably also been worried Nana would want to ground her again. Because trying to ground someone who’s slain a dragon and taken a road trip through Mordor wasn’t totally ridiculous…

She had upgraded to balrog slayer during the Ring War, and if the loss of the Scoobies had hit her hard, she was finally recovering. The Anariel of the past few weeks was more like the sister Tindomiel remembered from before the War, a far cry from the pallid shell that had greeted her family in Lothlorien en route to Arwen’s wedding.

It had occurred to Tindomiel that first evening that her sister might be fading – and she’d promptly felt as young and silly as her brothers occasionally informed her she was, because clearly everyone else had been way ahead of her on that conclusion. That was why Anariel had been there with her grandparents instead of waiting in the White City with the boys. She needed to be surrounded by elves, and kin at that. Their brothers alone were not enough.

The extra time in Lorien both before and after the wedding had helped Anariel a lot, even if it meant she hadn’t spent as much time in Minas Tirith as her mother and younger sister. She had returned to Gondor in time for Eldarion’s birth, which was the main thing, and joined them on the return to Imladris to prepare for their departure.

Anariel had spent nearly all her time with Tindomiel, Tasariel, and Califiriel the past few weeks, telling them stories, taking them swimming, riding, helping them pack- anything they wanted to do, really. She didn’t spoil them quite as shamelessly as Arwen had, but it was still clear that with their departure for the West rapidly approaching, she’d let them get away with far more than usual.

Her brothers had spent time with her too, but they’d also had quite a few meetings with Ada in his study, planning for the next several decades. While they would be the lords of Imladris as long as they remained in Middle Earth, everyone knew that by the time they took ship, the rest of the Imladrim would have made their way to the Havens.

The Havens that they were at now. Tindomiel couldn’t decide if she was excited or scared. No one knew how long it would be before they would see Anariel, Elrohir, and Elladan again.

“Not as long as you think, little one,” Elladan said quietly. “There will be so many new things for you to see and do in the West that for you it will be but the blinking of an eye. We will be there before you know it, almost before you have time to miss us.”

They did not stop until they reached the harbor, where their ship awaited. Loading was already in progress, for their baggage had been sent ahead. Some of it had been here for several years already, for Ada had prepared against the eventuality that Sauron regained the One Ring. Tindomiel had been told even before Anariel or Estel set out on their journeys to pack those things she would wish to take with her in case it became necessary to depart in haste.

Her brother swung down from the horse easily before lifting her down, deliberately thinking as he did how much smaller and easier to lift she’d been when she first arrived in Imladris. Elrohir was treating Califiriel similarly. Anariel was too short to help Tasariel down- the problem being more the height of the horse, not the thirty-year-old elfling who was already as tall as she was.

“We could fetch you a box,” Elrohir suggested, his eyes dancing.

Anariel stuck her tongue out.

“You two are so lucky I already told Arwen I’d stay,” she told him loftily. “Because otherwise I’d change my mind just for that.”

“Oh, would you come with us please?” Tasariel begged her immediately. “You could tell Arwen from here, couldn’t you? You’re as good as Aunt Galadriel at osanwë!”

Califiriel didn’t say anything, but she turned her biggest, most pitiful puppydog eyes on Anariel, who looked to Tindomiel with a frown.

“You put them up to this, didn’t you?”

“Me?” Tindomiel asked in mock surprise. “I didn’t need to, they know a good opportunity when they see it!”

“You have trained your padawans well,” Anariel replied. “Sorry, girls, I didn’t just tell Arwen I’d stay, I promised her I would. You three will be all right. Not only will you have Nana, Ada, Grandmother, and Glorfindel, there’s grandparents waiting for you in the West.”

“Arwen could release you from your promise,” Tindomiel suggested hopefully.

“No dice, brat. You and the Glorfindiel will just have to adventure without me this time,” Anariel replied cheerfully, pulling a carefully wrapped package from her saddlebag. “And since you’re going to be in Tirion before I will, deliver this?”

Tindomiel looked at the tag, then back at her sister in disbelief. Between the shape and the address, she knew it was Makalaurë’s harp.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Anariel gave her a Look.

_Seriously, go ahead and tell me you weren’t looking for an excuse to visit Nerdanel anyway._

Tindomiel rolled her eyes.

_Yeah, ok, I probably was, but I wasn’t looking to be the bearer of grim tidings._

“You don’t have to,” Anariel assured her. “Even if she doesn’t already know, I wrote a letter for her. All you have to do is give it to her.”

“You?” Tindomiel spluttered. “Wrote a letter? Like, voluntarily?”

Arwen was the serious letter writer in the family, though Tindomiel had penned a fair few herself over the last eighty years. Anariel was known for not writing – or adding postscripts under sisterly duress.

_Yes, I wrote. It kind of goes with the territory. I was in charge for that battle. Which makes me his commanding officer. Traditions of Ennor and traditions of California are not really that different when it comes to this._

Tindomiel had no idea how to answer that. Any impulse she’d had to tease her sister about the sudden about face from her usual lack of writing had just evaporated.

“Also, I did write another letter,” Anariel said wryly. “Here.”

The address on this letter was rather vague – it read simply ‘Grandparents’.

“Give it to whoever wants to read it, I guess,” she said.

Tindomiel tried not to snicker, and decided she should probably not share that part with their Amanyar kin.

“Anything else you’d like me to do while I’m playing postman?” she asked as they walked toward the ship.

“Hugs,” Anariel replied decisively as they reached the gangplank. “Lots of hugs. Like this.”

She demonstrated, embracing her sister tightly until Tindomiel yelped.

“Ack! Mercy! Mercy!”

She giggled as her sister released her with only the barest hint of reluctance.

“Go on, get going,” Anariel said firmly. “We’ll be along before you know it.”

Tindomiel nodded, and fixed her with a stern look.

“You’d better be,” she said seriously. “And you take a ship to get there!”

Tasariel and Califiriel were getting hugs of their own, from both the twins and Anariel, before they joined her, the three of them walking on board together.

Tindomiel couldn’t help looking back as the ship made ready to set sail.

Her brothers and sister were suddenly alone on the dock with the trio of hobbits who had come to see Frodo and Bilbo off, the only ones staying behind – the elves that had been doing the loading were sailing, too. Tindomiel bit her lip. She wanted her siblings to come with her.

 _We will be fine_ , Elrohir’s voice rang out firmly in her head as the sailors began to cast off the mooring lines. _If somewhat jealous…_

 _Although we two will probably be so busy keeping this one out of trouble that we won’t have time to think about how lucky you are getting to go first_ , Elladan added, indicating Anariel.

Anariel said nothing, but stuck out her tongue at her brothers like a much younger elfling and hip-checked Elladan before the twins caught her between them.

The ship was beginning to move now, slowly at first as the pilot maneuvered it clear of the dock, then faster as it caught the wind.

“Come, little one, you will have a much nicer view from the bow,” Galadriel called from the front of the ship.

Tindomiel grinned, and looking toward her sisters and brothers, she waved one last time. Then she moved forward to join her grandmother.

It was time to start looking ahead.


	2. The Straight Road

Tindomiel was unsurprised that her grandmother wanted to not only share the view with her, but also eventually to speak to her about her older brothers and sisters.

The view was interesting, as were her grandmother’s reminisces about the land they were passing by, for she remembered it before the world was changed and Beleriand sunk. Galadriel might not have the Song in her voice as haru Makalaurë had, but she could still weave a vivid picture of the verdant lands of Ossiriand and the mighty Gelion. She could also tell tales of Himring when it had been her cousin Maedhros’ seat, and Menegroth in its splendor before the Quest of the Silmaril.

It was as well that there were stories, for once they were beyond the Gulf of Lune, coming onto the open sea at dusk, there was not much to see but unbroken horizon, nor would there be until the stars came out.

That was when Galadriel gently rebuked her granddaughter for trying so very hard to persuade Anariel and Celeborn to sail with them.

“I still do not see why they could not have come,” Tindomiel murmured rebelliously, unwilling to concede that she had been in the wrong.

“Pitya,” Galadriel said with a sigh, “you may not be an adult yet, but you are certainly old enough that you should recognize that they were trying to be strong for your sake, and for your parents’ sake. They wished us to make the journey with easy hearts, not to worry about them.”

That was something that had not occurred to her. Anariel and the twins had been so unrelentingly cheerful all the way to the Havens that she had to conclude in the end that it was genuine. If it had not been…

Her grandmother gave her a disappointed look.

Ok, maybe she had been a little hard on them.

“They wanted to keep your spirits up, Tinu,” Galadriel told her. “They will miss us no less than we miss them. But they also know that once we arrive in Aman, you will have much to keep your mind off their absence. There will be so many people and places new to you that you will scarce notice the passing of the years. One day you will turn around and be surprised to find their ship arriving. They, on the other hand, brave though they have been about it, have little to truly look forward to in Ennor. Arwen and Estel’s children, visits to Thranduil, and occasional visits to the Shire.”

 _And Arwen and Estel’s deaths_ , Tindomiel thought, but quietly, keeping it to herself. Not to mention Jesse, Joy, and all the mortals they met during the War.

She wasn’t entirely sure how Anariel would face further mortal losses, but she was fairly sure that her sister would have to, unless Arwen’s life was even shorter than they expected.

“Do not let your thoughts linger on your sister dying,” Galadriel murmured, drawing her granddaughter into a comforting embrace. “We may hope that is a yen or more before her yet.”

“I know,” Tindomiel said pensively. “But until the twins and Anariel and Grandfather follow us, whenever that turns out to be, she’s like Schrödinger’s cat.”

She realized only after she’d said it that she’d just pulled a Buffy – translated something from California that an elf of Middle Earth had no context for. She could feel her grandmother waiting expectantly for her to clarify, and briefly regretted not picking a less complex reference.

“Um, the cat is from a thought experiment over an interpretation of physics. Maybe we’d call it philosophy? Anyway, the cat is in a box with a poison that will kill it if a certain event happens. But the event is a fifty-fifty probability over the time that the cat is in the box. So for a while you have to think of the cat as both alive and dead, because you can’t know which it is until you open the box.”

Galadriel blinked.

“Arwen is like the cat in that she is both alive and dead until you are told for certain,” she said cautiously, plainly aware that Tindomiel was trying to condense quite a bit into a simple explanation.

“Yes,” Tindomiel agreed, relieved she wasn’t being asked to get into the point of quantum physics that had sparked the thought experiment in the first place. Then again, Anariel had ended up explaining some of the stuff she said for hours, even if it didn’t seem that complicated. A _New York minute_ , for example.

“And all in California know of this extraordinary cat?”

“Most people understand that it’s a reference to something that could be one of two states,” Tindomiel replied after a moment of thought. “It would only be really educated people who know about the full argument, much less understand it.”

“What a remarkable world,” Galadriel marveled, shaking her head. “At any rate, Tinu, regardless of your sister and the cat, it is for your sisters and brothers that Celeborn remained. He knew perfectly well that much as I might wish him free to sail, you and your parents are in good hands.”

Tindomiel couldn’t suppress a snicker, because the idea that her parents need a parent to take care of them on this voyage is fairly ridiculous. They’ve both been looking forward to sailing for many years, longer than she’s been alive.

Anariel, on the other hand, probably did need someone to take care of her. Especially if the last few weeks was all an act– she’s seen her sister fake being ok before. It doesn’t work for long. And it was messy when she stopped pretending. If it was messy now, she’d need as much kin around her as could still be mustered. Otherwise, she might well join them a bit sooner than planned, and not by ship.

Her sister, strong as she might be, was as vulnerable to fading as any other elf. Maybe more so.

“First star!” called an excited voice from further back.

Galadriel smiled.

“I was expecting you would spot the first star this evening,” she told her granddaughter. “Though as Eärendil is yet to be seen in the sky, I suppose we cannot grudge Gildor claiming the honor.”

Galadriel’s nephew was as excited as any other High Elf to finally be going home – though in his case, it was a home he’d never known, for he had been born in Beleriand and adopted by Finrod after his parents were killed not long thereafter. The call of the Sea had turned him into a nomad by the time of Tindomiel’s youth, but he had been Celebrian’s childhood companion despite the difference in their years, and one of the few kinsmen present for her children’s births.

With the sighting of the first star, the elves on the ship began to lift up their voices in song, the hymn to Elbereth. But this was not the song Tindomiel had learned in her childhood, for they were changing the words.

_Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!_  
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!  
O Light to us that journey here  
From the world of woven trees! 

_Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!_  
Clear are they eyes and bright thy breath!  
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee  
We travelers upon the Sea 

She still couldn’t help wishing that her sister and brothers were with her to hear it, all the more because she knew in her heart that their sailing would be less joyous than this voyage.

Then she spotted the star that was dearest to her family – the Star of High Hope, her grandfather’s star.

"Aiya,” she whispered to the sky. “Soon we shall meet face to face.”

Not long after that, a sailor proclaimed that their ship had found the Straight Road. Some of the singers changed from Varda’s stars to Ulmo’s kindness to the Children, while others continued the original song. The sea changed as well, becoming calmer, nearly still, its glassy surface a mirror of the sky above. From her spot at the bow of the ship, Tindomiel saw nothing but stars everywhere.

She suddenly realized with a chill that she was actually seeing with her own eyes what was usually only sung of as memory – the starlight on the Western Seas.

As the singing continued, one of the Falathrim came around handing out blankets.

“We may be on the Straight Road now,” he told them with a wry smile, “but that does not mean there may not be a chill in the night air. And most do not intend to sleep below decks this night.”

“If they sleep at all,” Galadriel murmured.

Privately, Tindomiel thought it unlikely most of the adults would. They would sing until dawn, and probably beyond. But she knew that she would be asleep long before then…

Tindomiel looked around for Califiriel and Tasariel, but found them already curled up next to Glorfindel by the mast, covered by blankets of their own. So she made herself comfortable on the deck and let her grandmother sing her to sleep not with Varda's stars or Ulmo's kindness but a lullaby of the Teleri that she had learned in her childhood in the Years of the Trees, the soft ebb and flow of the tune matching the music of the Sea.

\---

The morning broke clearer and brighter than Tindomiel would have expected, and though the water was calm and the breeze gentle, the ship was still moving at a good pace.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” a cheerful voice greeted her.

She found her best friends sitting over her, breakfast in hand.

Tasariel passed her lembas and what California would have called sashimi, along with a fragrant tea.

“Atto helped Aunt Galadriel chase most of the grownups below decks to rest an hour ago,” Califiriel told her, mirth in her eyes and her voice at the memory of so many grown elves being herded like ducklings, with Mithrandir laughing heartily at the sight.

Willow and Tara’s daughters had referred to Glorfindel by name during their early childhood, but after Tara’s death, first Cali then Tas had taken to calling him Atto. (Tara had been ‘Nana’ and Willow ‘Ammê’ to both girls.) Tindomiel had at first been surprised that they would address their father in Quenya, but once she thought about it, she realized it made sense.

“Did they stay below to rest themselves?” Tindomiel asked curiously between bites. The sashimi was better than any she’d had before – not surprising, given that it had not been served at Imladris, and anything she’d had in California had been store bought. She was certain what she was eating now was fresh caught that very morning.

“Surprisingly, yes,” Tas answered. “We did not think Aunt Galadriel would. But Atto told her the sailors on watch were quite capable of looking after three well-behaved girls.”

Tindomiel had no trouble picking up on the not so subtle message: despite being left to their own devices, the three of them had best behave themselves. She had no idea what punishments her parents could mete out on a ship – gutting fish or being confined below decks, maybe? – but she had no intention of finding out.

She finished her breakfast and stood to look out over the railing.

She was glad she had swallowed first, because she might well have spit out anything in her mouth in sheer surprise at the curious eyes looking back at her.

At Tindomiel’s startled exclamation, Tas and Cali sprang up to see what was happening.

“Wow,” Cali said softly. “Is she an ainu?”

 _She must be!_ Tas said excitedly. _How else would she be here? We’re miles from land, and on the Straight Road besides. And she’s definitely not an elf!_

“I am Uinen,” the lady replied, rising up to look at them on their own level.

Her body, if it could be called that, was composed entirely of water.

“Well met, Lady,” all three girls chorused respectfully.

“You are young,” Uinen said, sounding quite as startled by that as they were by her.

“Yes, Lady,” Tindomiel replied, not sure what to say.

“It has been some time since there were young ones on the ships,” Uinen declared. “They liked to swim. Do you swim?”

Tindomiel glanced at Cali and Tas.

“We do swim, Lady, but our parents are below deck sleeping, so we can’t ask them for permission to swim just now.”

Uinen tilted her head to the side, as if wondering why they would need to do such a thing.

“I give you permission,” she said decisively, as though that should settle the matter. “Join me in the water. It is quite safe.”

Tindomiel shared a baffled look with her best friends. She wasn’t entirely sure Uinen’s permission was enough to keep them out of trouble, but at the same time, she was pretty sure blowing off a request from a maia, particularly this one, didn’t qualify as ‘well-behaved’ either…

“Go, young ones” came a new voice.

She turned to see one of the sailors grinning at her dilemma.

“Lady Uinen has asked it,” he shrugged. “It would not be good manners not to!”

Tas and Cali gave Tindomiel a split second look, and quick as a flash, all three girls were shrugging out of their clothing and sliding over the railing and into the water, with Uinen’s delighted laughter ringing in their ears.

The water was warmer than Tindomiel had expected the sea to be, yet not too warm – pleasant to swim in. She wondered if they should introduce themselves to Uinen.

“There is no need,” the maia said, and Tindomiel realized to her embarrassment that Uinen must be able to hear her thoughts, at least while she was in the water. “I know who you are. You are the girl who asked the Bruinen to rise. Your sister is the girl who brought the bottle, and you have another sister who hears the song of the Sea but will not answer its call yet.”

Tindomiel tried not to blush at the reminder of one of her more foolish childhood exploits – one of the few times the twins had actually read her the riot act. Though it had been Anariel’s scolding that had really hit home, for she had returned to her bedroom to find her big sister waiting, arms folded across her chest. ‘Would you have done it in Sunnydale?’ had been all she needed to say for Tindomiel to feel the full weight of her own thoughtlessness.

Uinen turned to Glorfindel’s daughters.

“And you are the peredhil sisters whose mother made a river run that had been dead for many years,” she continued. “These things and more I know, for all water is the province of my master, and all that is done in or near water is in his sight.”

“If you know all that happens near the water, do you know how Anariel and the twins do? Now that we have left?” Tasariel asked urgently.

“They have set out on the journey back to Bruinen,” Uinen replied.

It was not quite what Tasariel had been asking, but Tindomiel suspected it was all the answer they were going to get – today, at least.

It required no foresight to know this would not be the last day they swam with Uinen.


	3. Into The West

Tindomiel gripped the rail of the ship nervously.

There was a smaller boat drawing closer, which the captain assured them would be the Teleri sending out a pilot who knew the waters of Alqualondë well to guide the ship safely into its berth. The mariners of Balar, he said, had done the same service for the Teleri when they brought the host of Aman to Beleriand in the War of Wrath – and their sundered kin had promised to return the favor when the time came.

She was curious to see them – whoever was in the boat would be the first Amanyar she had seen.

Well, except for Glorfindel, who didn’t really count since he’d been at Imladris all her life... and was on the ship with them.

“What if they don’t like us?”

Califiriel’s voice was scarce more than a whisper.

All three girls had been keeping their worries from the adults the entire voyage. Tindomiel might not be quite grown up yet, but she’s not dumb, and neither were her two best friends. They knew perfectly well their parents and Galadriel all had their own private concerns about how they will be received in Valinor, and have been trying to protect the ‘children’.

Cali and her sister Tasariel were afraid that the manner of their begetting will be judged harshly by those in Valinor, High Elves who have not met the Secondborn and who cannot be expected to understand their father’s reasons for offering to help their mothers achieve their desire to have children, much less Willow and Tara’s reasons for preferring an elf to one of the edain.

It was something that had long been considered a private affair by the folk of Imladris, but here it will be apparent to all that they are peredhil and that their father was unmarried. Questions will be unavoidable, and none of them are sure what the reaction will be to the answers.

Glorfindel’s daughters were not even sure if they would be welcomed by their grandparents. His mother Irimë had died in the Kinslaying at Sirion, so presumably she at least had some idea that life on the Hither Shores was not as simple as the Blessed Lands, but his father was a Vanya who had never left, not even for the War of Wrath.

Tindomiel herself was mostly worried for others – her friends and her parents. She had long since made her peace with not being considered adult yet and so obliged to sail with her parents unless she meant to choose mortality. Her coming of age will not be celebrated for another eighteen years.

She would miss having her brothers and sisters there to see it, of course, but she will be the only one of them to celebrate with their extended family. Having ‘come of age’ in Sunnydale, Anariel never had a formal celebration – in fact, she had not even known there was such a thing until the twins mentioned it. (Tindomiel had yet to figure out which birthday counted as her sister’s ‘adulthood’, 16th or 18th. It couldn’t be 21st, since they’d left Sunnydale the month before.)

At the very least, she knew she had enough kin in Valinor that the odds that none of them will like her were very long indeed; and if worse came to worse, she will still have her two best friends. The three of them were well used to being the only ones their age around, since there have been no other elflings in Imladris for over a hundred fifty years. It would have been nice if at least one of her brothers or sisters had come with them, though.

Though she might complain frequently, Tindomiel recognized that there were occasional benefits to being the baby. Knowing her older siblings always had her back was one of them – she wouldn’t have minded having one of them here to stand as a shield between her and the amanyar if necessary.

“If they don’t like us, it’s their loss,” Tindomiel shrugged dismissively, pleased that she sounded far less worried than she actually felt. “We’re totally adorable.”

That at least drew a giggle from Tas and a smile from Cali.

They had been bored for the last few hours. For most of the voyage, it has been nice enough for them to swim daily.  
Indeed, Celebrian has complained that since the ship found the Straight Road, the three of them have spent more time in the water than out of it, and now smelled permanently of salt water. That had led to her ban on them swimming today – she wanted them to look less like wild wood elves and more like presentable young Noldor.

Tindomiel had made the mistake of pointing out that they weren’t Noldor, they were all mixed.

Her brain had caught up with her mouth too late, and she doubted they would get to swim again anytime soon after Celebrian had walked out of the cabin with a look on her face that could easily have turned the tropical jungles of far Harad into an icy waste.

Though she regretted upsetting her mother, what she had said was true enough.

When she had first arrived in Arda, and just begun learning the history of the elves in general and her family in particular, Dawn had diagrammed her family tree and calculated, with Arwen’s help, the breakdown of her heritage. Even if you discounted the Sindar, which there was a decent chance many Noldor did, she was still more Vanyar and Telerin than Noldor. Tas and Cali were equal parts Vanyar and Noldor, but they were also half edain.

Mentioning that was, however, touching entirely too close to her parents’ worries about Valinor – or her mother’s, at least, as the daughter of Galadriel Arafinwiel and Celeborn of Doriath. Her father probably had a few other concerns in the mix, what with not having seen his biological parents since they abandoned him and his brother as children back in the First Age and having been raised by the two oldest sons of Fëanor.

The upshot was that the three underage ellith were all dressed in “definitely not going swimming” clothes – far more formal than they were used to wearing on normal days – and hanging out on deck, absolutely not sulking and lacking much to keep their minds off their concerns about how arriving in Valinor was actually going to go now that they were just about there and it was no longer theoretical.

In their current state, the approach of the Telerin pilot boat at least had the virtue of novelty.

“Hey, I think one of them is young,” Tasariel exclaimed.

“I think you’re right,” Tindomiel replied, eying the youngest elf in the boat curiously.

Young was a relative term among elves, but in her personal lexicon, it meant anyone less than five hundred years old. The next ‘youngest’ person besides herself and her sister Anariel that she knew was the last elfling born in Lothlorien, and Nardoron had sailed with his parents fifty years ago, not long after his third yen.

She wasn’t really all that sure how accurate her guess at the ages of the elves approaching was. It was hard to develop the same facility for reading ages from eyes most of the grown elves exhibited when you didn’t have many examples under ten yeni to judge by.

But she thought that one of the elves in the boat coming alongside was only a few hundred years old – making him the first ellon close to their age Cali and Tas had ever seen. He definitely looked younger than Anariel, though she wasn’t really a fair example – since the end of the Ring War, Tindomiel had heard many adults fret that her sister’s eyes were too old for her age.

The boat drew up next to them soon enough, and the Teleri who came scrambling up the side looked overjoyed to see newcomers from Middle Earth.

The older of the two immediately swept Galadriel into a bear hug.

“Pitya!”

Tindomiel blinked.

She had to be hearing things. There was no way that the pilot who just came on board had called her grandmother ‘little one’.

First off, Grandmother was one of the most respected elves in Middle Earth. Secondly, she was the tallest elleth Tindomiel had ever seen. Third… ok, she didn’t actually have a real third, other than the general ridiculousness of anyone except maybe Galadriel’s parents calling her ‘little one’.

_Did he really just say that?_

Cali sounded as shocked as Tindomiel felt.

_He did_ , Tas whispered in amazement. _Does that mean he’s older than her? He’s certainly not taller!_

“Which of you is my cousin?” demanded a cheerful voice.

Tindomiel recognized that tone, although she doubted her kinswomen did. It was the tone of a slightly older relative – the one Xander had always taken with her. Just enough older to rub it in, but not enough of an age gap to really be considered older and wiser.

She turned to find the young elf from the boat looking from one elleth to another expectantly.

“Doesn’t that depend on who you are?” Tasariel asked practically. “I mean, you could be cousin to any of us or all of us. We wouldn’t know, since you haven’t told us who you are.”

The young Teler laughed.

“I suppose you are correct,” he agreed. “I am Eärsuro, son of Prince Eärlindo of the Lindar.”

Tasariel and Califiriel both pointed at Tindomiel immediately. She rolled her eyes.

“Pretty sure he’s not contagious, guys,” she said. “But they’re right. If you’re kin to Olwë, we’re cousins. Galadriel is my grandmother. I am Tindomiel, and these are my cousins Tasariel and Califiriel.”

Eärsuro looked faintly curious about Cali’s name, but smiled and greeted them with a ‘well met’ that didn’t sound so different in the language of the Lindar than it did in their native Sindarin.

“Come, cousin, friends, we are sailing into the harbor soon and you will see much better from the bow than from back here!”

The girls traded looks, but followed the irrepressible young Linda to the front of the boat, where he happily pointed out landmarks of the harbor and surrounding coast.

“Is it usually your father who guides the grey ships in?” Tasariel asked curiously, glancing back to the wheel, where Galadriel had not left Earlindo’s side and the two seemed to be trying to catch up on the last few ages before the ship reached the quay.

“No, usually it is left to the master on duty when a ship arrives,” he answered. “But your ship has long been looked for. When the standard was sighted, my father insisted it would be him who went out. He could not wait any longer, he said. And I was curious, so my grandfather said I might come with him, as there would be elves my age on board!”

“How old are you?” Tindomiel asked curiously.

All three girls held their breaths as they awaited the answer. Not that age was supposed to matter among elves, but it felt odd to be the only young ones around!

“Only one hundred ninety,” Eärsuro said, sounding faintly embarrassed. “I am the youngest, my brother and sister are both older.”

“How much older?” Tasariel asked eagerly, before realizing that it might be rude. For all they knew, his brother and sister might have been born in the Years of the Trees – she knew his father had been killed in the Kinslaying.

“My sister is three yeni, my brother two,” he replied, to their relief ignoring if it was a faux pas. “You?”

“Eighty-two,” Tindomiel replied.

“Thirty-one,” Tasariel and Califiriel said together.

“Ha! I am the oldest here! That is something new!” Eärsuro grinned. “But you have brothers and sisters, do you not, Tindomiel? We were told Galadriel has five grandchildren…”

“My brothers are much older, twenty yeni, and my oldest sister is nineteen. My other sister is three and a half, so she is more our age. But they are all still in Ennor.”

“They are adults and so could stay a while longer if they wished,” he replied, nodding in understanding. “But you still have a few years to go before you come of age – will your brothers join you by then?”

Tindomiel shrugged. She didn’t really want to go into details about the whole ‘they’re planning to stay until Arwen dies’ thing. Tucked safely away in her mother’s luggage were letters from Arwen to the relatives she has written to all her life, explaining her choice.

“Maybe,” she temporized. “Who can say for sure? We danced at Imladris, just in case.”

That was why he asked about her brothers in particular. It was tradition on both sides of the Sea that when an elf came of age, their first dance would be with an older kinsman for ellith or kinswoman for ellyn. Elder brothers and sisters were the usual partners, but an oldest or only child might dance with a cousin, aunt, or uncle.

“That will be of no help if they are not here for your coming of age party!” Eärsuro laughed. “I imagine there will be much competition within the family over who gets to do the honors.”

She sighed. Good to know their extended family in Aman hadn’t changed much since the Exile, still ready to argue amongst themselves at the drop of a fancy hat.

“Have you gotten to be the one ‘doing the honors’ for anyone yet?” Tindomiel asked.

He shook his head.

“I’m the youngest grandchild of Olwë,” he replied glumly. “Aunt Eärwen’s children were born in the Years of the Trees, and my uncle’s children are near in age to your eldest sister.”

“Well, then the rest of my cousins can argue all they want, I’m dancing with you,” Tindomiel said firmly.

“You say that before you have met Cousin Findarato’s sons,” he warned.

“What’s that got to do with it?” Tindomiel asked. “You’re telling me ‘you snooze, you lose’ isn’t a saying among the Lindar and the Noldor? Cause it’s definitely known to the Sindar.”

He snickered.

“It is not. I think I shall enjoy hearing you introduce the phrase.”

\---

The three girls passed the remaining time until the ship docked pleasantly enough with Eärsuro, the young prince of the Lindar narrating the sights of the harbor and the city until it was time for him to do his part in mooring the ship.

At that point, the sheer number of people on the quay to greet the ship became apparent.

Tasariel and Califiriel looked quite intimidated, and Tindomiel didn’t blame them one bit for slipping off to join their father. It was one thing to be surrounded by a crowd of Imladrim or Galadhrim, where they would recognize every face and everyone knew them. It was another to be looking at a sea of strangers, even if most of them were probably kin of some sort.

She would happily have done as Tas and Cali were doing and cuddled up to her father, which was the safest place she knew without Anariel around, except that her parents looked to be having a moment and she suspected it was the kind she shouldn’t interrupt. She was pretty sure her parents hadn’t spent years envisioning this moment with the idea that they’d have only one of their children with them...

_Come here, Tinu_ , her grandmother’s voice sounded in her mind.

She was happy to oblige, snuggling into her grandmother’s side as Galadriel surveyed the proceedings.

_You really do not need to be nervous, pitya_ , Galadriel said reassuringly. _It may be a crowd, but it is most certainly a friendly crowd. And I daresay a good many of them are eager to see you at last after so many years of letters and waiting._

“Everyone else is nervous too,” Tindomiel muttered.

Everyone except Galadriel, of course. If she had been nervous, it had passed when her cousin came on board to steer the ship in. She now looked as serene and unruffled as ever.

Her grandmother dropped a slightly distracted kiss on her head before moving forward to speak to Celebrian and Elrond, who were clearly a bundle of nerves, leaving Tindomiel to her own devices.

Tas and Cali were still tucked on either side of their father, who was excitedly pointing out something or someone on the docks to them. Tindomiel really hoped it was their grandparents – and that they were happy to see them.

The ship had now been secured, and the crew were swinging the gangway out so that the passengers could disembark. Tindomiel frowned. She knew it wouldn’t take that long, but at the same time, after weeks in transit, now that they were finally here she didn’t want to wait.

She drifted back toward the stern until she found what she wanted – a mooring line that was child’s play for a girl raised mainly among Sindar and Silvan elves, not to mention a keen observer of her older brothers and Anariel when it came to creative ways to get places. It was large enough that it was as good as a road to anyone used to walking rope bridges in Lothlorien. The Falathrim sailors smiled at the sight, but didn’t give her away.

Her parents and grandmother wouldn’t notice she was missing for a bit, and she was pretty sure once the family reunion got into full swing, that’s all she would get to do for a while.

When her feet found the dock, she grinned. The crowd was farther forward, surrounding the gangway. She was free to slip around unnoticed – at least until anyone realized she wasn’t local. For the first time, she regretted already being more or less adult height. This would be much easier to get away with if she were Anariel’s size. Then again, being elfling-size in this crowd might just draw attention quicker…

She walked slowly up the dock, eyes darting all over, hoping to skirt the back of the crowd to discover what Alqualondë looked like now. It had to have changed since Galadriel last saw it. Even aside from the whole Kinslaying, ship stealing, harbor-wrecking thing Fëanor had done right before the Noldor skipped Aman, it had been three ages. Unless the Lindar were really different than the Noldor or Sindar, they would have renovated or remodeled a time or three.

She was looking so intently at the lighthouse that dominated the harbor that to her intense embarrassment she actually ran smack into someone.

She sighed inwardly.

Game over already – as soon as she opened her mouth, they’d know her for a child of the Hither Shores. There was just no way, no matter how they’d all practiced their Quenya on the voyage, that accents and even vocabulary hadn’t diverged since Glorfindel had left. And she wasn’t rude enough to not apologize when it was her fault.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking-”

She stopped short, trying not to let her jaw drop.

The man she’d run into, standing at the back of the crowd as if unsure he actually belonged there, was as like Anariel as it was possible for a full grown ellon to be.

“Whoa,” she murmured, coming to a complete halt, utterly thrown by the resemblance. She knew she was staring, but she couldn’t help it.

The only difference, allowing for features masculine rather than feminine, was the eyes – where her sister’s were an ever-changing green, compared often to forests and meadows by a people who loved both, the unknown ellon had eyes the color of a summer sky.

It was only when the elleth with him – short for an adult, though of course still nowhere near as tiny as Anariel – moved forward from his far side that she realized who it was she was gawking at.

The elleth was a smaller, more delicate version of Elrond. Her grey eyes went wide as she saw who had run into them.

“Tindomiel,” she whispered, gripping her husband’s hand tightly, as if she needed to be anchored to the ground – or maybe held upright.

Tindomiel didn’t know how to address Eärendil – she’s not sure if she should speak Quenya or Sindarin – but with Elwing, all was clear.

“Grandmother?” she replied tentatively.

That was all she needed to say to be swept into an embrace by the pair of them. They would not be letting go anytime soon, Tindomiel was certain. She didn’t particularly want them to, either. She felt warm, and welcome and so, so loved. She was right where she needed to be. For the first time that day, her nervousness melted away, and she knew in her bones everything was going to be all right.

She was not sure how long they stood together, simply reveling in each other’s presence, almost giddy with relief that the ages-long sundering of their family was finally at an end. When her grandfather drew back to look at her again, there were tears in his eyes.

It was that moment that she heard her father’s voice.

“Tinu? Where are you, sweet one?”

He sounded worried, even though he must know that here in Aman she should be safe.

She did not even attempt to pull away from Elwing.

“I’m here, ada,” she called. “With my grandparents.”

Though as other heads turned to see where she was answering from, she realized she should perhaps have specified which grandparents. She could see many faces that were almost familiar, recognizing everywhere resemblances to her siblings or her parents.

It was disorienting, after a lifetime of having only her siblings, parents, and a single pair of grandparents, plus Glorfindel, Tas, and Cali, to be literally surrounded by kin on all sides.

When her father managed to reach her, he had at his side an elleth who must also be one of her grandmothers – Tindomiel found herself looking at features uncannily like her own crowned by Noldor-dark hair.

The elleth smiled, though there were tears in her eyes as well, when she saw where exactly Tindomiel was.

“Your daughter spoke literally, young Elrond,” she said quietly before retreating into the crowd.


	4. In Western Lands Beneath The Sum

Elwing could scarce stand still for excitement, and was barely upright for nerves.

The ship is arriving. _His_ ship is arriving.

Finally, after two lifeages of the earth, at long last she will get to hold her son again.

If he will let her, that is. He may not wish to. But she will at least see him. No one will prevent that.

She and her husband have long been barred from returning to the mortal lands, but that does not mean they have been ignorant of what has gone on there. Eärendil sails the skies nightly, watching always over his descendants. And all who have made the westward journey bring news.

So she knows all too well that her sons had forgotten her husband entirely by the time they grew to maturity. Of her, they had only vague impressions, fragments of childhood memory. Even the manner of her leaving was unclear to them – if the Kinslayers had ever told them the full tale, it had been garbled, for in Middle Earth they say that she was chased off a cliff, frantic and hunted. A victim. Quarry. Prey.

Some slander her, saying she chose the Silmaril over her sons. She had screamed out loud in frustration the first time she heard that version. She had given up nearly everything to keep her sons safe – she had been ready to lay down her life for them. Her reward has been to wait with her husband for six thousand years on the far side of the sea.

Elros had been gone after a mere five hundred of those years, departing the circles of the world forever. How could she have foreseen that her children would be asked to choose between kindreds, much less that one of them would chose to number himself among the Edain? She supposed she should be thankful that they did not both choose that path, but it was hard to be grateful when she considered the emptiness in her fëa where her older son should be.

Elrond, the younger one, the quiet one, the cautious one, had chosen the life of the Eldar. But he had tarried long in Middle Earth, determined not to leave before Sauron was vanquished and the world made safe for Men, for his brother’s descendants.

He has lived a whole lifetime without her, and she has been warned by many that he speaks of her but rarely, and if pressed will admit that he can scarce recall her face.

But he is _here_ at long last.

Six thousand years where she had thought a handful at most.

Her son has sons now, and daughters too, though only the youngest has sailed with him. Her eldest granddaughter, the one who looks like Luthien her grandmother, has chosen the same fate – to remain in the mortal lands for love of an adan, and to pass with him from the circles of the world.

It was foolish, but Elwing had wept bitterly when her husband had brought the news that the Evenstar too would number among the grandchildren she will never meet. Wept until she had no more tears left, as she has not wept in centuries, since the news came of Elros’ death.

Elrond’s sons and his middle daughter – the one they worry about the most, the one who has brought Eärendil to tears more than once, and caused him on several occasions even after her return to Middle Earth to illuminate Vingilotë in warlike red – remain on the Hither Shores, refusing to abandon their now mortal sister. She will be the one to leave them. Only then will they take ship.

Elwing knows there are those who would say she has little right to concern, and still less to say anything to her son about her concerns, but she cannot help but feel it was ill-done to leave Anariel in Middle Earth. Not only had the child been ripped from Arda as an infant, since her return from the mysterious land of California, she has walked in the Shadow too long. The rest of the world may call her the Slayer, but beneath it all, she was just a girl.

Worse still, she already mourned grievous losses, for her sworn siblings had died in the Ring War. She should have been brought to the Blessed Land to heal, not left to suffer further. Celeborn and her brothers may not be enough to anchor her. Even the strongest of hearts could break.

Elwing stood with her husband, whose constant fidgeting betrayed that he was no calmer than she was, and waited for what seemed like another six thousand years as the ship was piloted in by one of the princes of the Lindar.

Eärendil was her rock, the only way she will get through this. He had pointed out that they will at least see their son; they will finally know with their own eyes that he is safely in the Undying Lands. Even if he does not speak with them today, they can be sure that he will eventually find it in his heart to do so. For not only is he said to be as kind as his father, he can hardly avoid Itarillë and Elenwë, much less Anairë and Eärwen – and all those ladies will take their part with Elrond if necessary.

They stayed to the back of the crowd that had gathered, for the union of Elrond Peredhil and Celebrian the daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel brought together a number of mighty bloodlines from Nelyar, Minyar, and Tatyar alike. Many have come to the dock to greet them and their companions, Galadriel, Laurefindil, Olorin, and the periannath Ringbearers.

She tried very hard not to envy those who were certain of their reunions – like Lalwen and her husband, wild with joy at not only their son’s return, but their first sight of their young granddaughters. The entire royal family of Alqualondë were on the quays to welcome Galadriel, her daughter, law son, and granddaughter. Anairë and Eärwen had come from Tirion, as had Findarato; Elenwë, Itarillë, and Tuor made the journey from Ceutondolindë.

Elwing has often regretted her lack of height – many reproach her for having borne her children at so tender an age, saying she had given to her sons what ought to have gone to her own growth – but never more so than today, with so many tall elves born in the light of the Trees standing between her and that which she most wished to see.

The crowd was jostling a bit, but it was all good natured, so she paid it no heed when someone bumped into Eärendil until she realized that he had all but frozen, standing stock still.

She looked around him to find herself staring into her husband’s eyes set in Anairë’s face, framed by hair that blended the beauty of both Sindar and Noldor dark and Vanyar light, a warm shade of rich brown as gorgeous as it was unusual among the Eldar.

Her husband has told her enough of Elrond’s children to know exactly who it is blinking in stunned surprise at the sight of him.

“Tindomiel,” she whispered, not sure what kindly Vala has steered this young one to them when she should by rights be at the front of the crowd with her parents.

“Grandmother?”

The reply was soft and uncertain, but there was a note of wistfulness to it that gave rise to hope. And it came in Sindarin – her granddaughter speaks the language of her people!

It was the most natural thing in the world for both her and her husband to put their arms around her, the first grandchild of theirs they have ever met.

She knows she will have to share this precious child eventually, much of this crowd has a claim on her too, but as Elwing hid her tears in her granddaughter’s hair, she was not sure when she would be able to let go. She could feel through their bond that Eärendil was just as moved.

“Tinu? Where are you, sweet one?”

The voice cut through the crowd easily, as one used to command, though now it echoed with concern – a parent’s worry for a wayward child, out of sight and possibly up to mischief.

She cannot let go. Not yet. Nor can her husband. Tindomiel remained securely between them as she answered.

“I’m here, Ada, with my grandparents.”

She nearly cried again for the sweetness of those words, never heard before.

_My grandparents._

And then he was there. Her son. Her little Elrond, a man grown.

She was distracted for a moment, for Anairë was escorting him, and she nearly laughed as she watched Anairë and Tindomiel study one another, heads cocked at precisely the same angle as they took in their resemblance.

Then Anairë excused herself, though she was plainly no less eager than any other to meet Elrond’s daughter. They were left to themselves – or as much to themselves as they could be on a crowded quay in Alqualondë.

She thought Elrond was uncertain, but she could not be sure. She may be seeing only what she wishes to see.

Just before the silence would have become awkward, Tindomiel broke it.

“Ada,” she burst out, “did you know grandfather looked like Anariel?”

Ah, so that was what had brought the girl to a standstill when she first laid eyes on Eärendil.

Her son shook his head slowly.

“No, Tinu, I did not,” he said quietly. “I have not seen him since I was very small.”


	5. Anticipation

Anairon stood on the dock trying not to fidget. He would be cool, calm, and collected as befit a prince of the Noldor. Today of all days he would not hear how he fell short of his brothers. Not that his parents ever said it – it was something he generally overheard others saying.

He had only rarely been allowed to visit Alqualondë – no sense antagonizing the Lindar, his father usually said. But this time was different. This time was _special_ , with the ship arriving. His mother had been far too nervous to make the trip alone.

Aunt Eärwen had been at her father’s palace for months now, waiting. She had begun preparing for the journey as soon as the news of Sauron’s defeat had come to them, certain it meant that at long last her daughter would return.

Aunt Nerdanel would not come – not only was she ill at ease in the city where her sons had slain so many, she was not sure her presence would be welcome, either by those arriving or by Eärendil and his wife.

So Anairon had for once been permitted to make the journey to the city of the Lindar, to visit Aunt Eärwen’s kin, and maybe, just maybe, to finally have a chance at what his brothers and sister always had growing up – a cousin his own age.

Not Galadriel, of course.

His actual first cousin, Uncle Arafinwë and Aunt Eärwen’s daughter, was born in the Years of the Trees. She had dwelled in Middle Earth since the rising of the Sun, the only one of the Exiles to survive so long. Uncle Arafinwë was immensely proud of her.

But Galadriel’s granddaughter…

Anairon has known of Tindomiel since he was old enough to walk or talk. She was born at almost the same time he was, though on the opposite side of the Sundering Sea, and all his life his mother has quietly hoped that she would arrive before the pair of them came of age.

‘It would be so nice for you to have a companion as your brothers and sister did,’ Anairë would wistfully remark.

He has never been sure what to say to that.

He knew that his parents worried about him, his mother especially. He has heard the whispers that it had been a selfish mistake on his parents’ part to beget a child so long after their other children. But all his siblings were still in Mandos at his birth, and had been since the First Age. Anairë’s heart had been very empty without them. So when her husband finally returned from the Halls, she had persuaded him that they were young enough yet for one more child.

Turukano had returned to life not twenty years ago, but had scarce paid attention to his unexpected – and unwelcome, Anairon had concluded – baby brother. He had remained in Tirion barely a month, preferring instead to rejoin his people in Ceutondolindë, Gondolin recreated in Valinor, grander and more beautiful than the one Morgoth had destroyed. His parents had been very disappointed, and more so by his warning that it was unlikely his brothers or sister would soon follow.

Unfortunately, Anairon had overheard what his older brother had said to Mother before he left - demanding to know what his parents had been thinking. Apparently Turukano numbered among those who considered him a mistake.

Anairon didn’t think he was a mistake. He knew his parents loved him, as did his aunts and uncles. He has been the darling of them all, and never lacked for attention. Of his many cousins, Finderato was the only one he knew. Laurefindil had been reborn in the Second Age, but had journeyed back to the Hither Shores almost immediately, the only Rehoused permitted to do so. The rest remained in Mandos. As a result, all his aunts and uncles have focused their parenting urges on him.

Finderato had laughingly told him once that he doubted any royal elfling since Maitimo had enjoyed so much of his elders’ undivided attention.

He wouldn’t mind sharing, though. Tindomiel sounded interesting. And he has never had anyone his own age around before – Finderato’s sons and daughter were all adults by the time he was born.

Not to mention, the pair of them had at least one thing in common besides their age. Tindomiel also knew what it was like to be overshadowed by older siblings. Her oldest sister Arwen is Luthien Tinuviel come again – and making the same choice. Her brothers had done many brave deeds in the long fight against Sauron. Her other sister Anariel was famous on both sides of the Sea, not only for her prowess as the Slayer, but for having disappeared from Endorë with her mother and dwelled in the strange world of California before finding a way to return to Arda.

At least Tindomiel knew her brothers and sisters. Except for Turukano, Anairon’s only experience of his brothers and sister was secondhand, hearing what others said about them, or reading about them in the histories. And, of course, being scolded for not living up to them. (Except for Irissë. The tales told about her consoled him whenever he was downcast at being nothing like his brothers. He may not be Findekano, but he’s never set the stable block on fire or come home with his hair so hopelessly tangled that it had to be cut off either.)

His mother hugged him as the ship approached. His niece – and it still seemed odd to have a niece who was not only grown, but had grown grandchildren as well, for he was not around her often enough to have accustomed himself to the idea – clutched Anairë’s free hand tightly.

“Grandmother, what if-” Itarillë began.

“Of course they will be happy to see you, pitya,” Elenwë reassured her daughter for what must have been the hundredth time that morning. “Just because he does not remember Eärendil does not mean Elrond does not know you are his grandmother, or that he will not be pleased to meet you.”

His law-sister spared a smile for him. Turukano ignored him as far as possible, but Elenwë went out of her way to be particularly kind to make up for it. If, occasionally, this meant she treated him almost more as a son than a brother, Anairon never minded. Her unfailing kindness had left him with the conviction that there must be something quite wrong with anyone who could be mean to Elenwë.

“And young Tindomiel will doubtless be pleased to see you, Anairon,” Elenwë added reassuringly. “Eärendil tells us there are not many other young elves in Imladris, only Laurefindil’s daughters. I am sure they will all be happy to have a kinsman their own age.”

He tried to smile, but he was nervous, truly.

Tindomiel did not have to like him, or even be nice to him.

Most people had to be nice to him – well, to his face, at least – since he was a prince of the Noldor, but Tindomiel was a princess, not only of the Noldor, but of the Sindar too, descended from Finwë, Elwë, and Olwë. If she wanted to, she could take herself off to the woods with Elwë or Amdir’s folk or come here to Alqualondë and not bother with Tirion at all.  
Looking around, he could see that Aunt Irimë was also nervous, leaning on her husband for reassurance as the ship drew closer. Cousin Laurefindil has brought his daughters with him, and it will be his parents’ first sight of their grandchildren.

Itarillë’s son Eärendil and his Sindarin wife were toward the back of the crowd, unwilling to make a scene if their son either does not recognize them or does not wish to recognize them.

Anairon concentrated on the ship, nearly to the dock now. The excitement on the quay had risen to a fever pitch, for Aunt Eärwen could see her daughter now, standing by the wheel with her Lindar cousin. The tall girl at her side must be Tindomiel, and Anairon was startled by the sight of her.

“Amil,” he murmured, pulling at her sleeve. “She looks like you!”

Elenwë and Eärwen both smiled, for it was true – in the shape of her face, at least. Her eyes were different, and her hair.  
The crowd surged forward as the gangway was locked into place, and to his disappointment, Anairon lost sight of the cousin he was so eager to meet.

Galadriel and Laurefindil were the first off the ship, each going straight to their own mother, Laurefindil steering his daughters with him. Anairon was startled to see that one of them had hair a more brilliant red than Mahtan’s, which would surely set tongues in Tirion wagging.

Elrond and his wife followed Galadriel, introduced first to Aunt Eärwen, who swiftly beckoned to Anairë to join them. Anairon walked forward with his mother, but much to his disappointment, he did not find Tindomiel with her parents.

“Aunt, this is Elrond, your granddaughter’s grandson,” Galadriel introduced them. “And his wife, my daughter Celebrian. And who is this?”

Her curious gaze rested on Anairon. He made sure to stand up straight, and fought the urge to blush or hide behind his mother. At least Galadriel did not look displeased to see him as his brother had.

“My son Anairon,” his mother replied, and he could feel the love and pride in her voice as he held out a hand to greet his cousin. “Eärendil tells us he is of an age with Celebrían’s youngest daughter …”

“Well met, kinsman, kinswomen,” Anairon said politely, bowing to both Elrond and Celebrían as well as Galadriel, unsure how exactly he should properly address a man who though technically his great-grandnephew, was substantially older and had vastly more experience of the world.

“Speaking of our dawn child, husband, where is your daughter?” Celebrian asked lightly. “I have not seen her since we docked.”

“Oh, is she my daughter again?” Elrond replied with a laugh. “What has she done now?”

“I don’t know- that’s the trouble!” Celebrian replied, looking about as if her daughter might be anywhere.

“Tinu?” Elrond called, raising his voice to cut through the hubbub. “Where are you, sweet one?”

“Here,” came a voice from somewhere behind them. “With my grandparents!”

Anairon stifled a snicker, because he was fairly sure that description could apply to half the people on the quay. His mother cast him a reproving look before taking Elrond’s arm to guide him through the crowd, leaving Anairon with Celebrian.

He tried hard to think of something interesting to say, to start a conversation. Turgon may not be much of a conversationalist, but Anairon was certain that Findekano and even Arakano would know what to say to a kinswoman they had never met before. But they were not here to do the talking, and he couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound impossibly stupid.

“How old are you, Anairon?” Celebrian asked gently.

“Eighty-two,” he replied.

“Am I really the same age as Tindomiel?” he added hopefully.

Eärendil might have been mistaken. After all, it’s not as if he’s ever gotten to speak to his son or law-daughter.  
Celebrian laughed, a silvery, tinkling laugh very like Aunt Eärwen’s.

“You certainly are,” she replied, her eyes amused. “My grandmother tells me you are begotten within a week of each other. And here she is!”

Tindomiel must know some magic of the Sindar, for she had somehow managed to make her way unerringly to Eärendil and Elwing at the rear of the crowd without being seen. Close up, she looked even more like Anairë than he had thought- and what was still more unnerving, they held themselves the same way.

“Tindomiel, your cousin Anairon,” Celebrian introduced them.

She smiled, and held out a polite hand.

“Mae govannen, gwanur.”

“Quenya, please, my love- Anairon is Noldor, and has likely never had cause to learn Sindarin,” Celebrian reminded her.

“Well met, cousin,” Tindomiel corrected herself.

“You two are the same age,” Celebrian added, with a hint of mischief.

To Anairon’s immense relief, Tindomiel’s eyes lit up with a brilliance to rival the sun.

“Finally!” she exclaimed.


	6. All In The Family

Elrond smiled.

His youngest daughter had been in the clutches of one grandmother or another practically since she’d set foot on the quay. His own mother had been the first to claim her, but she was far from the only one.

Right now, Tindomiel was holding up remarkably well under Anairë’s attention. He’d long ago been warned that his great-great-grandmother was the most Noldor of them all. Now that he’d had a chance to observe her for himself, he had suspected it would be less her strict Noldorin ways than her utter determination to keep her young descendants safe that would ultimately drive all his children crazy.

Her son Anairon, begotten in the same year as Tindomiel, was so sheltered that this was his first time in Alqualondë, despite Anairë’s close and long-standing friendship with her law-sister Eärwen. Elrond suspected a few weeks around Tindomiel would be an eye-opener for the lad. And possibly for the lad’s mother too…

Just as well that it was Tindomiel she was fluttering around and not Anariel. Celebrían was not at his side, for there were many relatives eager to meet her as well, but he heard his wife’s mental laughter at the thought of how _that_ would go.

“You’ve done rather well for yourself, little one,” said a voice at his elbow. “She’s a lovely child.”

His smile grew.

“Aunt Lal,” he greeted her.

They hadn’t spoken yet, for happy as he was to see her once again among the living, he would not for the world have taken away from her first meeting with her grandchildren – or from Tasariel and Califiriel’s first meeting with their grandmother. The two girls were now with their grandfather, being shown some rare seashell or another from Olwë’s collection by the delighted king of the Lindar.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” she asked with a smile.

“Of course not,” he replied.

She opened her arms. He was happy to hug her, but could not help but contrast it with the last time they’d been side by side.

“Yes, you’ve grown a bit, but it would be far more shocking if you hadn’t,” Lalwen said drily. “You were only turning seven. Look at you now, all grown up and with little ones of your own.”

She laid a gentle hand against his cheek, and he was surprised, and touched, to see the pride in her eyes as she looked at him.

“I’ve missed you, auntie.”

She smiled.

“And I you, little one. Though I hope you did not worry for me as often as I did for you.”

Elrond could not help the shiver at the memory.

“I trusted that what we had been told of the fate of elves meant we would meet again,” he said, trying not to think of Nellas lying so still on the sand.

His aunt’s eyes darkened, a squall clouding over the starlight silver.

“You saw?” she asked, sounding shocked. “Surely-“

Her thunderous expression boded ill for her eldest nephews when – if – they returned from the Halls.

“Maedhros and Makalaurë said only that you had died. We were not told more than that until we were older,” he assured her. “Elros told me later, as an adult, that he didn’t see a single body.”

He was grateful that she did not speak further of his brother. The old pain had flared to life anew now that he was reunited with his parents, and his aunt, with every hope of soon seeing the rest of those he had lost in his youth. But there was no hope of his twin joining him. Their paths, little though they had realized it at the time, had begun to diverge not long after Sirion fell.

He and Lalwen both turned to watch Tindomiel, whose patience with Anairë was still holding – though it looked to be wearing a bit thin.

“You only brought your youngest?” Lalwen asked.

Elrond sighed. Lalwen, at least, knew something of the stubbornness of Thingol’s line, which ran just as true in his children as it had in his brother.

“Only in Elros?” Lalwen laughed, following his thoughts as easily now as she had when he was a child in Sirion. “You had your share as well, as I recall. Though I wouldn’t be so sure it’s only Thingol to blame for the stubbornness. The House of Finwë is hardly famed for its pliable temperaments.”

Elrond laughed.

He had been far too young at the time of the Third Kinslaying to notice his great-aunt’s humor, much less appreciate it. But he and his brother had whole-heartedly adored her, particularly for her cheerful disposition and indulgent attitude in the matter of cookies and other treats from the kitchens. To hear Galadriel speak, she had always been a favorite with her younger kin.

“All the same, little one,” she continued. “Your boys I certainly understand, there’d have been no persuading my older brothers to leave me there on my own either, but the younger girl? Particularly after what happened in the War?”

That she would say brothers – plural, meaning Fëanor as well as Fingolfin – was somewhat surprising. Elrond might have been brought up by Fëanorions, but they had rarely spoken of their father. His genius was undisputed, but the best most accounts had to say of him personally was that he had loved his own father dearly.

“I expect I shall hear from everyone about Anariel staying with her brothers,” Elrond said resignedly. “But what was I to do, Auntie? Insist she break a promise?”

“Surely her older sister would have released her if you had asked,” Lalwen replied. “Especially since reading between the lines of her last letter, Arwen herself is quite concerned about her little sister. If you’d told her you thought it best that Anariel be brought West, she would have been in no position to argue. And yes, you will hear quite a bit on the subject, I expect. Particularly from Turukano. Be thankful he waited in Tirion.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow. He could well picture most of the royalty of Tirion and Alqualondë being dismayed at his middle daughter choosing to sail with her brothers rather than her parents, but not why it should be his great-grandfather who would be particularly upset.

“He has a horror of valaraukar after Ondolindë,” Lalwen explained. “Not that I’m overly fond of them myself. So you can imagine how well he reacted to the news that the only granddaughter who favors Itarillë took it into her head to go balrog hunting. Were dragons not trouble enough for her? And by trouble, I mean ‘near-death experience’.”

“I am sorry she dragged Laurefindil into it,” Elrond murmured, somewhat embarrassed that he hadn’t previously considered how that must have looked to Lalwen.

She snorted.

“Really, Elrond, do you think I know nothing of my own son? Or is it peredhil you think I’ve forgotten about?” Lalwen demanded. “The little one was going chasing balrogs with or without Laurë. Of course he would go with her to try to keep her from getting herself killed. And a good thing he did, too.”

She shook her head.

“If Itarillë had still been on the far side of the Sea, I suspect she’d have gone running off with your girl as well. She’s very proud of her, you know. No, the only surprising part of the affair was Anariel convincing Makalaurë to go along. He wasn’t a fighter.”

“I don’t think it was the balrogs so much as Anariel he went for,” Elrond said quietly.

He’s had time to think that over. Makalaurë hadn’t been a fighter – that had been Maedhros. But when it came to threats to himself or Elros, Makalaurë could be quite as fierce and every bit as terrifying as his older brother. At least one band of orcs, and several men who had given their allegiance to Angband had found that out to their sorrow. He could well imagine that drive to protect his foster sons had carried over to his foster grandchildren, even the one least – or most, depending on your perspective – in need of such protection.

“Oh dear,” Lalwen murmured, her eyes on Tindomiel. “I think we’d best go extricate your daughter. I’d say she’s reached the point of starting to think Fëanaro may have been onto something with his Kinslaying idea. You distract your grandmother, I’ll whisk the girl away.”

Taking in his expression, she laughed and linked her arm through his.

“Not to worry, I’m sure Anairë will relax once it sinks in that her long-awaited kin are really here, and Tindomiel is none the worse for having been born in the Mortal Lands with the Shadow hanging over her. We’ll just have to keep an eye out these first few years.”

She patted his hand consolingly.

“She won’t be as bad once we’re back in Tirion, with Nolo around. She’s much calmer now that he’s returned. And it should help that there are only three left for her to fret over.”

\---

Tindomiel was enjoying having more grandparents. Well, mostly. It was a little overwhelming.

Elwing and Earendil were wonderful – Elwing would probably have been happy just to hug her all day long. Every few minutes, even if they were mid-conversation, she’d look over at her granddaughter like she was some sort of miracle. Earendil was a bit more restrained than his wife, but Tindomiel had noticed that he couldn’t seem to make up his mind whether to keep his eye on his son or his granddaughter.

She realized it must be a little weird to have left a toddler and only see him again as a grown ellon.

Eärwen was lovely – and so were her parents, and her brothers, and her nephews. The royal house of Alqualondë were beside themselves at finally having Galadriel back, not to mention her daughter and granddaughter. When the euphoria at the harbor had died down a bit, the new arrivals had been brought to Olwë’s palace. There the family reunion continued unabated, with one relative after another claiming her, her mother, and her father.

She had been pleased to see that even the hobbits were being welcomed as if they too were long-lost relations– though Frodo had begged permission to sit fairly early on, and the last Tindomiel had seen of Bilbo, he had been napping on a couch, with a blanket sized perfectly for a hobbit tucked snugly about him.

She understood the urge, because she was getting a little tired out herself. Happily, her new cousin Eärlindo was being very good about rescuing her whenever her sudden proliferation of grandparents got too overwhelming. Tindomiel wasn’t sure if he noticed it himself, or if Queen Súyelírë was keeping an eye out for her. Anairon was doing his part, too – though he didn’t obviously rescure her from the ‘overwhelming’ as much, he was on point when it came to popping up at her elbow with drinks and small snacks.

Anairë, on the other hand…

Well, the grandmother she looked the most like meant well, Tindomiel would give her that much. Unfortunately, she seemed to think that ‘Elrond’s youngest daughter’ was much younger than her actual age. Tindomiel was long past needing anyone to cut her food for her, but it wouldn’t surprise her if Anairë tried it whenever they sat down to dinner.

Anairë wasn’t the only one of her grandmothers who had never left Aman – both she and Eärwen had been born here, and never known anything else – but she was the one who seemed to think that Ennor had been impossibly lethal, a danger to everyone and everything that lived there.

Maybe it had been that bad in the First Age, it wasn’t as if Tindomiel could say from personal experience. She did have to admit that an awful lot of her family’s history from that time ended ‘killed at X in the year Y.” Anairë had suffered disproportionately in that tale – her husband, her children, and her grandson had all died. Itarillë had been the only one to return alive. (Eärendil had been only a theory to her until he’d turned up as an adult with his wife.)

Tindomiel knew that Anairë’s husband – Elrond’s great-great-grandfather Nolofinwë, one of the scant handful of Noldor who impressed Anariel – had returned from Mandos. Her cousin Anairon hadn’t hatched from an egg, after all. And her son Turgon had returned as well. So to Tindomiel, it would have made sense for Anairë to lighten up. She had every reason to expect her lost children would be returning to her soon, and the fact that Elrond had managed to survive not only the First Age, but the Second and Third besides should be proof that Ennor wasn’t quite the death trap she was picturing.

As for Elrond’s children, all five of them had made it to the Fourth Age, although Tindomiel had to admit that whole episode with Nana and Anariel disappearing and only turning up with Tindomiel several yeni later had probably been pretty upsetting for their Amanyar relatives, who had apparently known what the Imladrim hadn’t – that Celebrían and Anariel were not in Mandos.

Ok, maybe Anariel coming so close to getting herself killed on a fairly regular basis didn't really help either...

“May I borrow Tindomiel for a bit, Anairë dear?” came a new voice.

Tindomiel looked up to find that Elrond and Lalwen had joined them. (Or should she be Irimë now? Tindomiel needed to figure out who preferred which version of their name, because she knew both Quenya and Sindarin for all her Exile kin.)

Tindomiel was perfectly willing to go along with any plan that got her away from her great-great-great-grandmother. And possibly gave her time to ponder how exactly to address her various forbears, because great-, great-great-, and great-great-great- was too much of a mouthful, but saying just ‘grandmother’ and ‘grandfather’ was going to get very confusing at large family gatherings like this.

Besides, she was pleased to get some time with Lalwen. She’d been hoping to get a chance to meet great-aunt (ok, technically great-great aunt, and also great-great-great-great aunt – and the more Tindomiel had to think about these technicalities, the crazier it was going to make her.) Lalwen had been one of their kin living in Sirion before the Kinslaying – which made her one of the relatives that had a hand in raising Elrond.

Lalwen hadn’t waited for an answer from Anairë, just confidently steered Tindomiel in the direction of the gardens. That suited her just fine, since she hadn’t gotten to see much of them yet.

“Tasariel and Califiriel told me they were feeling a bit cramped indoors, with so many people and so few trees,” Lalwen said conversationally. “So I thought since you’ve grown up in the same place, you might be feeling much the same. Or possibly more so, with so many more new people trying to take up your attention.”

Tindomiel had the distinct feeling that it hadn’t been just about ‘so many more new people’.

“Also,” Lalwen added wryly, “while you may have Anaire’s face, you have your father’s expressions, and while it’s been some time since I last saw it, I know that look of suppressed exasperation.”

Tindomiel blinked.

“Ada never makes faces!” she protested.

“He probably hides it better now,” Lalwen said with a smirk, “but I distinctly remember a pair of young peredhil who hated being cooped up inside much of the winter and didn’t want to hear sensible, grownup explanations like ‘too cold and stormy outside’. That look made an appearance quite regularly.”

Tindomiel couldn’t have stopped the giggle if she’d tried.

“Anairë is a little overexcited,” Lalwen continued. “She has long wanted to see all her family safely on this side of the Sea. And of course, she has hoped since news reached us of your birth that you might arrive before you and Anairon were grown, that you might be friends. He has been the only one of his age in Tirion much as you were the only one of your age in Imladris until my granddaughters were born.”

Lalwen’s whole face lit up when she spoke of her granddaughters, and it cheered Tindomiel to know that her friends’ worries about what their grandparents would think of peredhil grandchildren had been so far wide of the mark.


	7. Dinner With The Family

Celebrían had to suppress a smile as they went in to dinner, for there was as much jockeying for position going on as there used to be at race meetings in Lindon in her youth – only this time, there were no horses involved. So many relatives eager to have time with their long-awaited kin from Ennor. It occurred to Celebrían as she looked on that it’s rather like the California game of musical chairs, only with more royalty and less music.

Her mother’s grandparents, Olwë and Súyelírë had taken what appeared to be their usual places, and were watching with some amusement as their relatives and guests tried to arrange themselves, for no seating order had been imposed on them. Celebrían has already begun to suspect that her own sense of humor was akin to theirs.

Her uncle Findarato had not stayed in Alqualondë beyond mid-afternoon. Though he had greeted his sister and her family on their arrival, he had departed shortly thereafter with Gildor at his side, to bear word of their coming to those who waited in Tirion, his father Arafinwë among them. So he was not present to join his Lindar cousins as they drifted to one end of the table, conversing quietly with Erestor, and waiting to see how the rest filled in.

Celebrían herself had entered on her grandmother’s arm, and Eärwen did not show any signs of relinquishing the first of her Ennor-born grandchildren she has met- for none of the others have returned from Mandos yet. Galadriel swept in with young Anairon at her side and seated herself next to her grandmother with her youngest cousin on her other side, where they joined the royal couple watching the polite (and silent) scramble for places. Young Eärsuro took the spot on Celebrían’s right with an air of great daring, for his parents were at the other end of the table.

Anairë was Celebrian’s great-aunt, but she was also great-great-grandmother to Elrond, and had been speaking with him when dinner was announced. Much like Eärwen, she was not about to give up her grandson. Elrond’s grandmother Idril took his other arm, and Celebrian could feel her husband’s bemusement, after so many years of no living kin closer than Celeborn and Thranduil, to suddenly have multiple grandmothers trying to monopolize him.

Celebrían looked around, trying to spot her youngest child. Tindomiel had been walking with Lalwen in the gardens, but she gave her older kinswoman a playful shove toward Tasariel and Califiriel as they came in. The two girls were thrilled to sit with their grandparents and their father, and by the looks of it, probably wouldn’t notice if the rest of the room disappeared entirely, though Califiriel did give Eärsuro a smile when she realized he was sitting next to her.

Celebrían watched in quiet amusement as several of her daughter’s grandmothers angled to snag the suddenly unescorted young elleth, but Tindomiel affected not to see any of them as she made a beeline for Elwing and maneuvered herself neatly to a chair with Elwing on her left and Eärwen on her right.

Idril suddenly developed an interest in sitting across the table from where she had originally been aiming for, allowing Elwing to have her granddaughter on one side and her son on the other, while Idril had the joy of sitting across from them where she could see both her grandson and great-granddaughter at once.

Elenwë seemed to have decided early on that she would have many other chances to sit with her newly arrived descendants, and engaged in what looked to be a friendly conversation with Earlindo and his wife as she took the seat next to her own daughter.

Mithrandir guided the two hobbits to the end of the table where seats had been prepared for them, before claiming one of the few open places left, on the other side of Anairë.

_Do you think we should suggest everyone stand up and then take one chair away? It would be pretty funny._

Tindomiel’s voice was dancing with merriment, proving she had been far less unaware of the proceedings than her innocent expression suggested.

Celebrían leaned around her grandmother to give her daughter a mild warning glance as the first dishes were set on the table. She hoped the high spirits of youth could manage a formal meal without incident before the children could be safely dismissed into the garden to one of the surprises she knew her grandparents had in store for them.

\---

Tindomiel was enjoying dinner. The food was delicious, of course, and their Lindar relatives seemed very keen to showcase dishes that they knew their sundered kin would not have had in Ennor, but the real highlight was the company and the conversation.

She would have been slightly annoyed by her mother’s occasional silent admonishments to behave herself if she hadn’t realized early on that for every one she gave, Celebrían was hearing one of her own from either Galadriel or Eärwen about not being too hard on her. It was getting increasingly difficult not to laugh out loud.

Elwing was so happy to have Elrond on one side and the only grandchild she’s ever met on the other that Tindomiel wasn’t sure how much her grandmother was actually eating. Every so often she’d take time out of her own meal to brush against Elwing’s hand or lean her head on her shoulder, just to reassure her that this is all real and they’re not going anywhere. Her father’s been doing the same thing from the other side – well, not so much the leaning, because he was so much taller than his mother that it wouldn’t really work. The difference between them was that Tindomiel’s pretty sure those touches were reassuring Elrond just as much as Elwing.

Tindomiel had been trying to listen in on all the conversations at once, because there was so much to catch up on, with everyone except Frodo and Bilbo trying to make up for several ages of absence and separation. (Bilbo, despite being chuffed by the excellent dinner, looked like he was full enough to be getting sleepy. There was a hobbit-sized couch thoughtfully set off to one side, where he could lay down whenever he felt ready for his after-dinner nap.) But it was tricky trying to follow so many different people talking – particularly when not everything was being said aloud.

She abruptly tuned in on the conversation happening between her mother and her great-grandmother. She didn’t really want to get involved in this, but on the other hand, if she didn’t, Anariel would not be happy when the first thing she had to do whenever she arrived with the twins was shoot down ridiculous rumors. Although Tindomiel could already tell it would be pretty funny to hear her sister try to explain the concept ‘friends with benefits’ to Anairë. (While it might exist in both California and among the Sindar, the Noldor definitely didn’t do such things.)

“Excuse me, Nana, but Anariel is _not_ going to marry Legolas.”

Great, she had the attention of the entire table now. Yay, gossip.

“Tindomiel, my love, they are-”

“Only good friends,” Tindomiel interrupted, mentally adding _who occasionally have naked fun time together, but I don’t think Anairë of the Noldor should hear that._

Her mother gave her a pointed look that utterly and completely agreed, and thought her father might not particularly want to hear it either. Galadriel was trying not to laugh.

“But they would be such a lovely couple,” Elwing sighed.

Tindomiel opened her mouth to ask how Elwing could know, before remembering that her grandfather was pretty up to date on what went on in Middle Earth. Also, she’d heard enough Sindar vs Noldor competitions to recognize when her family was gearing up for one. On the bright side, Elwing was slightly subtler than Thranduil about it.

“Yeah, but they’re not a couple, and they’re not likely to be,” she pointed out.

“What makes you so sure, Tinu?” her father asked. “Your sister has spent much time in his company.”

Tindomiel snorted.

“Ada,” she said, trying not to roll her eyes too hard, “if you doubt me that their fëar are not in tune, all you need to do is think back to what Mithrandir told us about Moria.”

“I do not see what the Fellowship’s journey through Moria tells us about their compatibility, my dawn child,” Elrond said indulgently.

Tindomiel sighed.

“Remember the balrog part?” she asked. “Mithrandir said ‘run’.”

“Yes,” Elrond replied. “And?”

“Legolas _did_.”

“Which was the sensible thing to do,” Celebrían said sharply.

“Of course it was,” Tindomiel agreed, aware her mother often worried Anariel gave her younger sister bad ideas. “But you know perfectly well that if Anariel had been there, she’d have been like ‘no, it’s ok, I got this, you guys go on, I’ll catch up.’ Any ellon that wants to keep up with her would have to show a little more backbone than running from a single balrog.”

Idril was suddenly coughing into her wine, Elenwë looked horrified, and Anairon was openly gaping at her logic, but Mithrandir looked fairly amused. It probably helped that unlike their amanyar relatives, Mithrandir had actually met Anariel.

“Fortunately, Tinu, your sister was not with us,” he said merrily.

“Fortunately for somebody,” Tindomiel muttered, trying not to look toward Tasariel, who hopefully had been talking too much to her grandfather to notice the turn the conversation in the middle of the table had taken.  
She got the logic behind her sister’s course of action during the Ring War, she really did. Growing up with not only Anariel but Arwen and the twins, it was pretty hard not to have a solid grasp of tactical analysis, particularly with all the study sessions they’d run on the major battles of the First Age and Second Age. But even knowing how important it had been, she felt like Anariel vs. 1 balrog would have been much less painful than Anariel vs 3 balrogs + 1 army turned out. Even if that might have meant sailing without Cali and Tas.

“She will recover, in time,” Mithrandir said reassuringly.

“Adar will look after her,” Celebrían added, though Tindomiel had the impression she said it as much for her own comfort as for her daughter’s. “And your brothers, as well.”

“I know,” Tindomiel sighed. “But back to my original point – she and Legolas are so not a couple. I thought Estel was the only one silly enough to think so.”

“Did he?” Elrond said, with a raised eyebrow. “Perhaps it’s not so silly an idea as you think.”

“Legolas thought it was silly,” Tindomiel muttered.

She would have said more, except that the servers were bringing in dessert, and while she could not yet see it, her nose had just caught a whiff of something she hadn’t smelled in years – something she hadn’t smelled since Sunnydale.

She whirled toward her mother, only to find Celebrían’s eyes twinkling in delight. She had known! She had known and never said a word!

“Nana!” she said accusingly. “There’s _chocolate_!”

\---

Celebrian would never cease to be amused at how her daughter’s mood could turn on a dime.

One second she’d been all scorn and indignation on her older sister’s behalf (though Celebrían herself rather hoped Tindomiel was mistaken, for though there were no doubt plenty of eligible ellyn here in Aman, she thought Legolas would be a good law-son.) The next, she’d turned outraged eyes on her mother.

“Nana! There’s _chocolate_!”

Celebrian couldn’t quite help the satisfied grin that appeared on her face at the combination of surprise and indignation.

They’d hoped, of course, when they sent Tara’s gifts on to Aman, that those plants not suited to Imladris would be successful here, with not only elves but maiar and even Yavanna herself to coax them into flourishing. But hopes were not certainty, and when Tara had agreed to send them, she had asked that Tindomiel and Anariel not be told of it, that there would be no disappointment if those hopes came to naught. She had already known then that Anariel would sail only after the Scoobies were no more, and had not wished her to suffer further, not even so minor a loss.

Celebrían and Elrond had been told over the course of the afternoon that not only had Tara’s gifts been realized to their fullest value, chocolate had over the past few decades become the new sensation in Aman. They had been eager to see their daughter’s reaction – daughters’, actually, though Anariel would not arrive for some years yet – and so had many others at the table, for even young Anairon and Earsuro had been let in on the secret.

But it was not only Tindomiel who was surprised, for contrary to her parents’ expectations, after a single astonished moment of staring at shaped chocolates set on her plate, their daughter did not even taste the much loved (and sorely missed) treat set before her, but sprang up to fly further down the table on eager feet, bearing a single starfish like a treasure that she set before Califiriel with a whisper as she crouched at her side.

All eyes at the table were on the younger girl as she first sniffed, then cautiously bit into the proffered dessert. Her eyes widened at the taste, all amazement.

“My _naneth_ did _that_?” her astonished whisper carried clearly down the table. She turned to her sister, and though she said nothing out loud, it was plain enough that she was silently telling Tasariel to try it.

Glorfindel was looking from one daughter to the other, torn between concern and some more complicated mix of emotion that looked to include both sorrow and delight.

Tasariel, oblivious to her father’s reaction, examined the chocolate that had just been set on her own plate as if it were the most important thing in the universe. She picked one up cautiously, and inhaled the scent, as if it might somehow let her recall her mother more clearly, before biting into it. She looked first surprised, then blissful as she savored it.

Tindomiel herself only took a piece of her own after both her friends had had their first ever taste of their mother’s gift, and did not chew, choosing instead to let the chocolate melt on her tongue, eyes closed, looking lost in memory. A tear traced down her cheek, which Califiriel’s grandfather gently brushed away.

_We have done something right, husband, to have such a child,_ Celebrían said.

_We have done something right, beloved, to have such children,_ Elrond replied quietly, calling to mind the four on the far side of the Sea, including the one they will never see again.


	8. A Bright New Day

Tindomiel woke with the sun. It was hard not to, really. Her window faced east, so the first rays came streaming into the wide windows along with the cool breeze off the sea.

Her first full day in Aman. She couldn’t wait. It was hard to believe she’d been so nervous this time yesterday. It was like coming to Arda from Sunnydale all over again, only more awesome.

She was betting the adults would be sleeping in – if they’d even gone to bed yet. She suspected they had stayed up all night talking. After all, they had three ages of the world to catch up on! Unfortunately, she hadn’t yet developed the grown elf capacity for staying awake for days. Ada had carried her to bed after she’d fallen asleep in the gardens despite her drowsy protests that she could walk just fine.

Actually, now that she thought about it, her father had probably carried her to avoid a tussle among her many grandmothers over who got the honor. Her two best friends had only one set of grandparents angling for the job, so Glorfindel had let his parents put Califiriel and Tasariel to bed.

The five ‘elflings’ had adjourned to the gardens after dinner while the adults carried on in Olwë’s hall long after dark. Galadriel’s grandparents had thoughtfully set an area aside for them, lit with blown-glass lamps hanging from the trees. Until exhaustion set in, they’d had their own fun around what the girls decided had to be the fanciest ‘campfire’ they’d ever seen – once they’d gotten over laughing at Anairon’s fumbling attempts to light it. 

He’d sulked for a while after that, until the s’mores. Nobody could sulk in the face of s’mores.

It had been good fun, making the traditional campfire treat for the first time since California. Not only had Tas and Cali never had them, neither had Eärsuro or Anairon. Up until now, neither Ennor nor Aman had had all the necessary ingredients. Aman had lacked marshmallows, while Ennor had no chocolate. 

Cali had been amazed to learn that chocolate was her mother’s doing – and Tindomiel had been a little surprised to learn that not only Tara, but also Willow, Celebrian, and Elrond had all been so sneaky about it. She couldn’t believe Ada and Nana had never mentioned that there would be chocolate in Aman. If they’d told Anariel that, there was no way she would have stayed in Middle Earth. 

She’d nearly swum after the boat as it was. 

Tindomiel was sure her parents hadn’t known how utterly miserable her sister had been watching their ship leave Mithlond. She hadn’t even known it herself until Uinen finally told her when their ship was nearly to Aman. She was now as repentant as her grandmother could have wished about pushing so hard to get her sister to sail, immensely guilty that she’d shamelessly used every trick she could think of to persuade her older sister to do what Anariel secretly wanted in her heart, but was barred from doing by her own given word and loyalty to her older sister.

She suspected that if Ada had realized, Anariel would have been ferried out to the ship and brought with them, even if she was supposed to be a grownup, no matter what she’d told Arwen. She had been so fragile since the end of the Ring War. It wasn’t completely unexpected that she would take Xander, Willow, and Anya’s deaths hard, but it was still disturbing. 

At least Grandfather and their brothers would be there to take good care of her...

Tindomiel dressed quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone, and slipped from balcony to balcony until she reached Tas and Cali’s room. Sure, she could have gone through the hallway, but where would the fun be in that? Besides, if she did, she was sure she’d find some grandparent or another up and about with ideas about what she should be doing.

She had ideas of her own. They revolved around swimming.

She tapped on the window until Califiriel opened it, and let her in on the plan. 

Five minutes later, three young ellith were scrambling over the east wall of the palace garden. 

“Is that wall actually meant to keep people out?” Tasariel asked in confusion. “There are trees on both sides of it. A five-year-old could climb over it!”

Her sister snickered.

It was true, though. Tindomiel didn’t know anyone who wouldn’t be able to get in and out of the palace gardens without using the gates. Her older siblings would have laughed themselves silly at the idea, even Arwen – especially since if you wanted to go to the quiet beach Tindomiel had spotted from her window, the nearest gate was in the opposite direction.

“Do we need to keep our shoes on for this?” Califiriel asked as they reached the sand. “It’s so soft here, and our feet are going to get wet anyway…”

“Good point,” Tindomiel agreed.

They shucked their shoes and socks, tossing them by the walls of the palace complex, where they could easily retrieve them on the way back. After a moment’s thought, Tindomiel ditched her leggings as well, leaving her wearing just her tunic. Cali and Tas followed suit, and then the three of them were on their way.

The beach Tindomiel had spotted was nice enough, but Glorfindel’s daughters noticed a slightly more secluded cove a bit further up, which suited them even better. They stripped off entirely to swim, as they would at Imladris or Lothlorien – very few elves bothered with bathing suits unless there were non-elves around.

They saw no one for the next hour or so, save for a passing fishing boat, whose sailors waved cheerfully but clearly considered them nothing out of the ordinary. 

The first notion they had that they might be in trouble was when Anairon showed up. He stood on the beach – fully dressed, in boots even – arms crossed, and waited until they noticed him.

“I don’t suppose it occurred to any of you that you should ask someone before going out?” he asked, when they came close enough. “Everyone is wondering where you are and worried about you.”

Tindomiel was sorely tempted to dunk him, but decided getting his boots wet would be overkill. They weren’t the right kind of footwear to take salt water well. 

She stuck her tongue out instead.

She also reached out to her father – as she’d expected, he was deep in conversation.

_Sorry, ada. We went swimming_ , she explained. _I thought you and nana would be either still talking or sleeping. We stayed in sight of grandfather Olwë’s palace._

Her father was perfectly at ease with her explanation and not terribly bothered in any case – considering she’d been allowed to range further from the main house in Imladris without having to check in with anyone, and they were now in the Blessed Realm, he did not think her in danger of anything more severe than sunburn.

Her mother chimed in with thoughts of breakfast and lots of grandmothers and her father’s father arriving soon, and encouragement to return.

“My parents aren’t worried,” she pointed out. “And I can see my room from here. That barely counts as going anywhere.”

Anairon raised an eyebrow – though whether it was at her dismissive tone or at the nudity as all three of them emerged soaking wet from the surf, she couldn’t tell.

“You’re not wearing anything,” he protested, sounding scandalized.

Nudity it was. Or maybe both. Tindomiel was starting to get the feeling that standards for young elves in Tirion were considerably stricter than in Imladris or Lothlorien – and to suspect she wasn’t going to like it very much if that was the case.

Anairon, blushing a furious red, handed them their towels and turned his back while they dressed.

_Is everyone here this prudish?_ Tas asked, her mental voice full of mirth. _I thought only the Edain cared about such things!_

_If we’d known, we could have worn something_ , Cali said contritely. _Atto did pack swimming costumes for us, now I think on it._

_I hope not_ , Tindomiel sniffed. _No one in Lorien ever bothered about swimming naked, and they practically live in the water in the summer._

_That’s because the water there is warmer_ , Tas retorted. _If there was a swimming hole nearer Imladris that wasn’t mountain fresh, we would live in the water too!_

_I can’t see why he’s so worked up. Isn’t he related to all of us? His father is grandmother’s brother_ , Cali said practically. _That makes him our cousin. And he is both a cousin and a great-uncle to you. So it can’t be indecent, he’s our kinsman._

_Maybe they look at it differently here. I think only actual first cousins and people in the direct line of descent are off-limits_ , Tindomiel said dubiously. Personally, she couldn’t see marrying anyone introduced to her as a cousin or great-however-many-times uncle anyway. _If that’s the case, then maybe it’s kinda naughty for him to see us nekkid? But I didn’t know the Noldor were prudes either. Grandmother never mentioned._

Fully dressed, they cleared their throats pointedly to let Anairon know he could turn back around. Not one of the three snickered at his obvious relief that they were dressed. Not out loud, at least. Especially not once they caught his expression at their bare legs.

_How can he be so bothered? Everyone has legs!_ Tas giggled.

As they drew closer to the palace, Anairon headed in a different direction than the one they had come by.

“We left our shoes and leggings that way,” Tindomiel pointed out when he turned away from the beach.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, irritated. “The nearest gate is this way. If we go that way, we’ll have to walk an extra mile.”

“Or we could just go in the way we got out,” Tasariel suggested.

“How did you get out?” he asked suspiciously.

“Over the garden wall,” Tindomiel replied.

_I think that was the wrong answer_ , Califiriel said, her face serious but her mental voice dancing with laughter at his expression.

“Come on,” Anairon ground out.

Within a few minutes, they found themselves on a road studded with what looked like a mix of volcanic rock and coral. Tindomiel’s feet protested. Although she was used to running around barefoot at home, this surface was not so pleasant to walk on without shoes.

When she slowed, Anairon caught her by the wrist and marched her onward at a brisk pace.

“Ow! You’re hurting! Let go!” Tindomiel snapped, forgetting dignity and socking him in the upper arm.

He didn’t let go, but he did glare at her.

She was beginning to understand why the Sindar grumbled about the attitudes of the golodhrim.

_Tinu_ , Tasariel said quietly. _I think hurrying might actually be a good idea._

_People do not look happy_ , Califiriel added, sounding unnerved. _I do not like how they are looking at us._

Tindomiel hadn’t been the youngest in a rambunctious family for nothing. She could do a subtle look round with the best of them. Cali and Tas were right. The atmosphere was souring quickly – but she didn’t think it was her and the daughters of Glorfindel that were the problem.

Anairon hadn’t picked up on it, but that didn’t surprise her. He was generally pretty oblivious. Despite being the youngest of five, he had been born so late that he was effectively an only child – his older siblings had all been in Mandos when he was born. Only Turgon had returned since then, and taken himself off to New Gondolin pretty much immediately.

_Please can you two finish your fight inside?_ Tas asked urgently _The Lindar are starting to worry me, and none of us can defend ourselves if something happens. I didn’t bring any weapons!_

Tindomiel hadn’t either, but as she caught the venomous look one passerby was giving Anairon, she was pretty sure she wasn’t the one who would need defending. That’s when her brain caught up and she realized what was happening. 

Her very Noldorin looking relative, who strongly resembled his oldest brother – who had definitely been involved in the Kinslaying here – was manhandling an elleth who didn’t look particularly like a Noldo in the streets of Alqualondë. No one watching would know it was a mostly friendly tiff between cousins. 

Yes, this could turn ugly.

She yanked her wrist free from Anairon’s grip. He looked shocked that she could manage it. At some point, she needed to enlighten him about just how deadly her older siblings were, and how much they’d taught her when they weren’t off chasing dragons, fighting wars, and killing balrogs. Not to mention the whole story of Buffy and the Scoobies- if he was as sheltered as she thought he was, she was betting his parents had edited a lot about Anariel!

“Stop being a horse’s butt,” she ordered frostily. “I can walk without your assistance. In case you’d forgotten, I’ve been doing it just as long as you have!”

Her kinsman was actually the same age as her, to the week. Her parents had been very surprised to discover that. The amanyar relatives all seemed to think it was charming - the last set of similarly aged relatives, not counting any twins, were Galadriel and Aredhel. (Their extended family hadn’t yet decided whether they should take that as a good omen or head for the hills. Grandmother’s youth sounded like it had been way more interesting than she let on.)

Tindomiel set action to words, marching fast enough despite her feet that he had to hurry to keep up. All she got from Tas and Cali was sheer relief that they were in motion, even if they weren’t sure where they’re going. 

They made it to a gate – a guarded gate, no less – swiftly enough, and it wasn’t hard to figure out that this is where Anairon was trying to bring them in the first place.

The guard on duty took one look at the bare feet (and legs) of the ellith and raised an eyebrow at the young prince of the Noldor.

“You have much to learn, young one” he said disapprovingly. “Findekano would be appalled that any brother of his behaved so badly.”

Tindomiel’s surprise at hearing Fingon spoken of with approval here must have shown, because the man shook his head.

“He may have been taken in by the Fëanorions,” he explained, “But Prince Findekano was otherwise the soul of courtesy and valor. He certainly would not have marched his young kinswomen barefoot through the streets.”

The last part was aimed pointedly and reprovingly at Anairon, who looked miserable, though whether it was the mention of his dead brother or the embarrassment of being told off publicly was anyone’s guess.

“Nyah,” Tindomiel couldn’t resist adding, sticking her tongue out for good measure. “Told you we should have gone back for our shoes.”

“Where are they?” the guard asked. “Since I imagine Prince Anairon will be sent to fetch them when his mother hears of this.”

“We’ll get them ourselves,” Califiriel said firmly. “They’re just over the garden wall.”

“Next time, young prince, take the girls to their shoes first,” the guard advised. “Or let them just scramble back over the wall as I imagine they planned on doing in the first place.”


	9. He Ain't Heavy, He's My Cousin

Anairë, it turned out, was the only one actually scandalized at the idea that Tindomiel, Califiriel, and Tasariel had gone skinny dipping. 

Elenwë did her best to look disapproving, as apparently the Vanyar would frown on such proceedings just as much as the Noldor if not more so, but the twinkle in her eyes gave her away. Itarillë hadn’t thought it worth remarking upon, being well aware what the Sindar considered acceptable. 

The Lindar were as accustomed to swimming however and whenever as their Sindarin kin, so neither Eärwen nor her parents were disturbed. Galadriel had looked faintly puzzled at the fuss, which almost set Tindomiel giggling, and Elwing had been downright contemptuous.

“How else would one swim?” was her only question.

Watching Anairë splutter at that had been fun. 

Lalwen dismissed the entire kerfluffle with a wave of her hand and said that seeing as the girls hadn’t had breakfast yet, they were to sit and eat, and Anairon could jolly well walk all the way around the outside of the palace walls to fetch their shoes if he couldn’t work out how to go over the wall as they had.

When, the best part of an hour later, Tindomiel managed to extract herself from her gaggle of grandmothers (and the occasional great aunt), she found Anairon still in the garden, looking like he didn’t have the faintest idea where to begin. She couldn’t help but take pity on him.

“You’ve never even tried anything like this before, have you?” she asked.

He looked up morosely.

“Why would I? Gates are made for a reason.”

She was starting to see his stuffiness for what it was – he’d been cooped up in the very proper Noldorin royal complex all his life, with his mother hovering over her only living child. Tindomiel hadn’t figured out yet whether Turgon’s avoidance of Tirion was indifference, preference, or Issues, but she’d only been in Aman for maybe eighteen hours. Working out what exactly Turgon’s deal was might take some time.

But she could and would start rehabilitating her cousin, cause it sounded like her parents were planning on staying in Tirion at least for a little while whatever they’re going to call Imladris on this side of the sea was under construction. Unfortunately, Cali and Tas were only going to stay in Tirion briefly before continuing to Valimar with their father and grandparents. In short, she and Anairon were pretty much stuck with each other, even if he hadn’t realized it yet.

Besides, she really did like the idea of having a cousin her own age. Not that Tas and Cali weren’t great, but it wasn’t quite the same – she was older than them by several decades, so she was expected to be responsible and look out for them. But she was only older than Anairon by five days, which meant they were on equal footing.

She watched him glaring at the wall and decided to wait until he asked. He looked like he was most of the way there already in terms of frustration, and she knew perfectly well he wasn’t about to admit to all the royal ladies inside that he couldn’t figure it out. 

At least, she hoped he wasn’t about to admit it.

She plopped down on the grass and watched him jumping ineffectually, trying to get his hands on the top of the wall. It was just high enough that most elves wouldn’t be able to do it unless they were unusually tall. Anariel probably could manage it despite her shortness, thanks to her Slayer strength thing. But she’d only bother if it was an emergency, otherwise she’d do the same as everyone else and take the easy way.

Finally, Anairon kicked at the wall in sheer frustration.

“I give up! How did you do it?” he ground out.

Tindomiel grinned and walked straight to the tree he’d been ignoring the entire time. It was far enough from the wall to not crowd it or displace it with its roots, but there was a branch that jutted out over the wall. There was a matching tree about fifty rangar down the wall on the outside, which made Tindomiel suspect that Olwë was completely aware of this route in and out, and might even use it himself.

“The tree?” Anairon asked in disbelief. 

“Of course,” she nodded. “Watch, it’s easy.”

Granted, it was a little bit easier for her than it will be for him, because she spoke to the tree first as anyone taught by a Sinda would, but even without the tree’s cooperation, he ought to be able to scramble up.

When it turned out he couldn’t, she was a little taken aback. 

“Ok, you’re gonna have to help him a little more than usual,” she sighed to the tree. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Anairon gave her an odd look, but with the tree’s connivance, he was able to get enough handholds to climb to the branch that would get him to the top of the wall. To her relief, he did grasp what to do from there, and dropped to the sand below without any prompting. 

Tindomiel followed him down, and pulled her leggings and boots back on before bundling Tas and Cali’s things neatly and strapping them together with her belt, because she understood by now that Anairon would have no clue how to do it.

After that, she gave him the choice of tree or walking around the long way. She wasn’t terribly surprised when he chose ‘walk’, but he decided to take her to a different gate this time, probably so he didn’t have to run the risk of the guard from earlier witnessing his embarrassment. He passed the garden gate – “locked from the inside, we can’t get in here”.

The route he chose instead took them along the beach and past the main harbor on their way to the front of the palace. 

“So you don’t get out much, I guess,” Tindomiel said when the silence had dragged on a bit too long.

“No,” he muttered, eyes on the ground just in front of him.

He was still getting some less than friendly looks, so Tindomiel took it upon herself to thread her arm through his to make it clear that bad mood or not, he was her friend. He shot her a surprised look, but didn’t comment.

“You can talk about it if you want, or you can stick with surly and cranky,” Tindomiel prompted hopefully. 

After a pause in which he showed no signs of saying anything, she sighed.

“Here’s a hint- you’re supposed to pick _talk_ ,” she added.

“Don’t you want to get back to your friends?” he asked. 

She couldn’t tell if he was being snarky or honest, so she answered as if it were a real question.

“If you mean Tas and Cali, we spend plenty of time together,” she shrugged. “But they’ve never had grandparents before. They deserve some quality time being fussed over and spoiled. Besides, our mothers totally want us to be friends, which works better if we have some basic understanding of each other aside from ‘born at the same time on opposite sides of the Sea, how cute!’”

“Everyone expects we’ll be like Irissë and Artanis because of that,” he muttered, sounding subdued.

“Which sounds a little weird for you, considering she’s your older sister you’ve never met,” Tindomiel observed. “It’s also kind of weird for me, because back home Grandmother’s noted for being wise and respected, not for being half of a terrible twosome, which is what it sounds like they were here.”

Anairon’s snicker told her there were definitely stories she needed to pry out of him, but that could wait.

“I do get out sometimes,” Anairon said abruptly, steering them away from the palace and toward the dock their ship had come into yesterday. 

It was empty now, so presumably the Lindar had other things the ships could do once they’d made the crossing besides sit around clogging up the harbor. She'd have to ask Cirdan or Olwë later.

He plunked himself down at the end, which Tindomiel took as a good sign – if this was going to be a short, perfunctory talk, they could have had it walking back to the palace. She sat down next to him, letting her feet dangle, and halfway wishing they had some stones to skip.

“In Tirion I go to visit Aunt Nerdanel, or to the academy. And we visit Grandmother in Valimar regularly.”

“Do you ever get to hang around people your own age?” Tindomiel asked curiously. 

She was unsurprised by the answer, though the explanation was unexpected.

“Not really,” he said. “The elves our age are mostly either born to either Latecomers or to the Rehoused.”

“And you’re not allowed to play with them?” Tindomiel asked, puzzled.

“It’s more that a lot of them aren’t allowed to play with me for one reason or another,” Anairon explained glumly. “There aren’t very many Latecomers in Tirion, they usually choose to stay among the Lindar or move to one of the Sindarin settlements.”

“What about the Rehoused?” Tindomiel asked curiously.

He shrugged.

“The ones that followed Fëanor still aren’t too fond of my father. Most of my father and brothers’ followers haven’t returned yet, or if they have, they’ve gone to Turukano’s city. The ones that weren’t thrilled about going in the first place or who were involved in what happened here don’t like looking at a young elf who looks like my oldest brother, and everyone who knows him says I do. I mostly just try to stay out of the way.”

This was all completely alien to Tindomiel’s experience, for elflings were so rare east of the Sea that any young elf was fussed over considerably by pretty much all the adults. Compared to how she, Tas, and Cali had been treated by everyone around them, Anairon’s solitary life sounded incredibly sad.

“That’s not the first time people have said I should have a brother to teach me,” he added morosely. “But I don’t see Turukano very often, and I don’t think he- well, he doesn’t really notice me even when he is around.”

“What about your dad?” Tindomiel asked.

She’s not sure why it’s only Anairë who’s here with Eärwen, though given the reaction to Anairon she’s starting to suspect it wouldn’t be the best idea for Nolofinwë to be here, even several ages later. She didn’t get why Arafinwë hadn’t come, since he was definitely not involved in the bloodshed. But both of Finwë’s living sons have remained in Tirion, where they will greet them on arrival. 

“He teaches me things,” Anairon said. “Lots of things, actually. He says it’s a shame my brothers aren’t here, but that I get more attention than any of them did, because I’m the only young elf around. The only other one close to our age is Artalissë, and she was already in her second yen when I was begotten. Her brothers are older. But I don’t see them very often. Findarato spends a lot of his time in Valimar or here in Alqualondë.”

“Wow. So you get not only no brothers or sister, but no cousins either most of the time,” Tindomiel whistled. “That sucks.”

Anairon shrugged.

“It’s not so bad. My parents are really nice, even if you think Mother is too fussy, and Uncle Arafinwë and Aunt Eärwen spend a lot of time with me too. And it’s nowhere near as miserable as the elflings had it who were young during the Dark, or the War. Or growing up in Endorë.”

Personally, Tindomiel didn’t think growing up in Ennor had been that bad, though she can see where it would have been worse back during the First Age when Morgoth was ruining everything. But even with the imminent threat of Sauron overshadowing most of her youth, she’d very much enjoyed growing up in Imladris and Lothlorien.

“Being around grownups isn’t the same as being around people your own age,” Tindomiel pointed out. “I mean, it’s not like we’re ever going to have to be serious princes or princesses, but shouldn’t you still be getting to know elves our age? To be like a leader or something?”

Anairon sighed, and picked at a splinter on the end of the dock.

“I’m used to how things are, I guess,” he said at last. “I’m not really needed to be a leader anyway. My brothers will come back eventually, they’re the leaders. Everyone thinks Arakano would probably have returned by now if he knew he wasn’t the youngest anymore.”

Tindomiel frowned. She understood ‘everyone’ to mean everyone in the family, but not why it would be only Arakano. Anairon had two more siblings in Mandos. And unless his older siblings were much different than hers, they should want to be here looking out for him.

“What about Findekano? Or your sister?”

Anairon chewed on his lip nervously.

“Mother and Father don’t like to talk about Findekano,” he said quietly. “It’s kind of a scandal. He won’t return unless he’s sure Maitimo will be released, and Maitimo may never be allowed to return.”

As he haltingly explained, Tindomiel started to get the outline of the weird chain of family bonds and childhood loyalties keeping a lot of her kin in the Halls. 

Fingon won’t come back without Maedhros, Argon won’t leave without his older siblings, and no one’s sure why Irissë refuses to return – whether it’s loyalty to her brothers, loyalty to Celegorm, weirdness with her husband, or love of her son, who it’s generally agreed ranks up there with the Fëanorions in terms of elves behaving badly. (Turns out Anariel really was the outlier on that.) 

Turgon had returned pretty much only for Elenwë and Itarillë’s sakes – and from the sound of it, he wasn’t as over what had happened to him in Ennor as most of the Rehoused. 

As for the Arafinwions, Angrod wouldn’t leave Mandos without Aegnor, and Aegnor refused to leave because he saw no point in living without Andreth. Finrod had guilt issues about both of them. (It might not be completely his fault, but Tindomiel had to agree with Buffy’s verdict- “Uncle Finrod gives the worst advice ever when it comes to love.”) Orodreth was trying to persuade his father to leave the Halls the last anyone knew, and his Sindarin wife would not leave without him, as her kin were largely either still in Ennor or in the Halls themselves. Finduilas couldn’t face returning without her parents, or possibly at all. There were hopes Gil-galad might return, particularly if he learned that Elrond has finally arrived.

The sons of Fëanor weren’t expected to be released anytime soon, if ever- which was a little awkward given that Tindomiel knew darn well her sister fully expected _haru_ Makalaurë to be returned to her without a long wait. Not to mention, it seemed a little unfair to poor Amras that he should be punished forever because his stupid older brothers couldn’t behave. (As a youngest child herself, Tindomiel knew she would be furious if she were put on permanent time-out because of the twins and Anariel.)

Of course, all this drama paled in the face of their grandfather Finwë remaining stubbornly in the Halls – officially to give Miriel a chance to return to life, but privately Indis’ children suspected it was yet another instance of their father’s blind devotion to Fëanor, who would probably never be permitted to return. (Anairon's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he heard what Tindomiel usually called Fëanor.)

When Anairon finished catching her up on the state of their extended family, Tindomiel whistled.

“Wow. What a mess.”

Though, now that she thought about it, she was starting to get an idea on that subject. The Key was supposed to be able to open any lock, any dimension. Presumably that included Mandos…

She was going to let that thought keep a while, though. First things first- get up to speed on life in Aman, pull the stick out of Anairon’s rear end, and help build Imladris 2.0. Once she was settled, maybe retrieving a few dead relatives and giving the rest some unsolicited advice wouldn’t seem quite as big a deal to her grandparents.


	10. Of the Sindar

Elrond was deep in conversation with Anairë and Itarillë when his youngest daughter came bouncing in from the gardens, where she had been playing with her cousins. He recognized the look on her face easily enough from long experience – the expression of a child who expected to be told ‘no’ when there was something they desperately want to do.

The look was familiar enough on his youngest child, as it had been on her brothers and oldest sister before her. He had only seen it on Anariel once, when she had first returned from Erebor and wished to accompany the elder Mr. Baggins partway to the Shire. His middle daughter as a rule didn’t ask parental permission, tending instead to simply do as seemed best to her and apologize afterward if it proved necessary.  (“It is better to seek forgiveness than to ask permission” was apparently a well-known California proverb.)  

He was thankful that Tindomiel generally gave fair warning of what she intended, unlike her older sister- and that her adventures were also far less dangerous.

“What is it, my dawn child?” he asked indulgently. He cannot imagine anything she may have gotten into her head that she would _not_ be permitted to do here.

It was a new feeling he had not yet accustomed himself to, knowing that his daughter was in a land of such safety. No orcs, no dragons, no balrogs, no dark lord. The worst likely to happen to a child here was no more than the mishaps common to the young everywhere- cuts, scrapes, perhaps the occasional broken bone. He had few regrets about his life in Middle Earth, but one of those few was that his children did not experience the security in their childhoods that his foremother Anairë’s young son Anairon has known all his days.

“Ada,” she said breathlessly –in Sindarin, though he has been proud to hear her speaking Quenya with Anairon without difficulty or hesitation. “Eärsuro says that there is to be a bonfire tonight on the beach outside of the city, a _Sindarin_ celebration. May I go?”

It required no thought at all – though he had been brought up as a prince of the Noldor, he has always endeavored to make sure his children were comfortable with their Sindarin kin and heritage. (Judging by the frequent hints from Thranduil – which he had once heard Anariel refer to as “anvilicious” for their lack of subtlety – he has not entirely succeeded.)

“Of course, little one.”

Anairë’s eyes were surprised, but she held her face neutral.

He was unsure why she should think Tindomiel would not be permitted to attend such a gathering. She was no longer an infant, to need a parent at her elbow for every step. And at a gathering of the Sindar, in the highly unlikely event that she did not find herself among kin, she will still be treated as befit a granddaughter of Elwing – and Thingol.

“Can Anairon come too?” she asked, switching to flawless Quenya and turning a hopeful expression on her several times great grandmother.

Anairë might be inclined to be a strict parent with her son, but Elrond could see she was loath to deny her newly arrived granddaughter something she wanted – particularly not when what she wanted was Anairon’s company.

“Do not worry, it will be harmless enough, grandmother,” Itarillë assured her. “There are sure to be others their own age there, and they will doubtless have their own dancing and fun.”

That Itarillë chose ‘harmless’ as a description was enough to warn him that in Aman at least, there had not been nearly as much mellowing of the relations between the two peoples as had occurred in Middle Earth.

Over the course of the time, ‘Noldor’ and ‘Sindar’ had ceased to be the sharp distinctions they once had been, as both groups dwindled and those that remained mingled freely with each other and with other elves. By the late Third Age, there were few of either group left to care. Many had fallen in the wars against Sauron in the Second Age, and more chose to depart for the West over the long years the Shadow had risen again in the East. The Tawarwaith had always professed to see little difference between them, and to the Avarin peoples they were _all_ Elves of the Journey.

True, to those old enough to remember the First Age, such as Celeborn and Thranduil, or even those of mixed or uncertain heritage like Gildor and Erestor, there would always be an awareness of who was who, and even in what degree. But those born in the Second Age and beyond had only ever known a Middle Earth where both groups co-existed and respected, however grudgingly, each other’s ways and traditions.

Elwing joined them just in time to hear Itarillë’s words, and while her expression did not change, his restored bond with his mother let him glean that she was not pleased.

“Tindomiel is a princess of the Sindar, Lady Anairë,” she pointed out crisply. “You may be sure that she will be treated with respect. It would be unthinkable for my people to allow her or her guests to come to any harm.”

Her tone was pleasant enough, but Elrond heard the warning in the words all the same.

 _We will discuss it later, my son_ , she told him firmly. _I hope your father’s Noldor kin will not attempt to distance your daughter from her own people._

Elrond himself hoped his father’s kin and his mother’s kin did not intend to subject his children to a tug-of-war, particularly not when the child with the temper best suited to handle such a standoff would never sail. (He was unsure how his sons would react, but he had a feeling Anariel’s response to any such spat would be to declare herself one of the Lindar, followed by a prolonged sail up the coast. That she’s never sailed before that he knew of wouldn’t matter in the least.)

“But do not such celebrations last until quite late?” Anairë fluttered nervously. “They will be some distance south of the city – by the time they are ready to leave, it will be much too late for them to walk or even ride all the way back here.”

“The children are welcome to overnight at my house, which is also to the south,” Elwing offered. “I believe Tasariel and Califiriel are also going?”

Tindomiel nodded.

“Their father gave permission, and Eärsuro is to go with us also, since he is the one who told us of it in the first place and knows the way,” she told them.

Elrond was amused to note that she was dialing up the woeful puppy-dog eyes in her great-grandmother’s direction. Even Galadriel had been known to cave to that look. Celebrían was the only one on this side of the Sea known to be immune.

“If the other young folk are going, then Anairon should not be left out,” Anairë murmured reluctantly.

“Oh, good! Thank you, Ada, Grandmother!” Tindomiel beamed, hugging each of them in turn before dashing off to share the good news with her cousins.

Lalwen joined them, looking amused.

“So she did wring permission from you, Anairë?” she asked.

“Yes,” Anairë answered, still looking fretful. “I suppose there cannot be anything improper in it…”

“Do not worry so, sister,” Lalwen sighed. “They are going as a group, and except for the Telerin prince, they are all underage. They will make merry with other youngsters and likely not be offered anything stronger than a glass of sweet wine if there should be any toasting.”

Anairë said nothing more, but Elrond could not help noticing she did not look very reassured.


	11. A Night of Firsts

 

Tindomiel was excited as she followed her older cousin on her borrowed horse. While she had seen plenty of the Lindar and Noldor relatives over the past few days, this would be her first glimpse of the Sindar in Aman beyond her grandmother Elwing.

She was also happy that not only Tas and Cali, but also Anairon had been allowed to come.

Tindomiel had been astonished to learn that Anairon had never spent a night away from his parents in his life. It wasn’t like she had travelled much herself, but even so she’d been allowed to go on trips with her siblings to visit relatives. She’d gotten to meet _haru_ Makalaurë, visit Lothlorien, and even gone to the Greenwood once before the road became too dangerous. (By that time, Arwen had remained at Imladris too. Not long after that, even Anariel stopped haring around Middle Earth, though in her case it probably had more to do with nearly getting herself killed taking down a dragon somewhere in the North and suffering the humiliation of being escorted home after Thranduil read her the riot act.)

So getting to not only take Anairon to a Sindarin feast, but also to be allowed to have him stay over at her Sindarin grandmother’s… well, it would be firsts all around for him.

Thankfully, he’d been talked out of dressing for this as he would for a festival in Tirion. After seeing the various options, the girls had ruled that he should just wear normal clothes. (They’d solved the problem of what Anairë would say to this decision by simply not telling her. Anairon’s overnight bag was large enough that it could easily have contained a more formal tunic and fancier leggings.)

Tindomiel herself was dressed nicely, but not too nicely – the Sindar were not as formal as the Noldor. Thankfully, they didn’t mind leggings on an elleth, and from what she had been able to glean from Elwing, leggings sounded more practical for the sort of dancing and games they could expect this evening.

The celebration was about three-quarters of an hour’s ride south of Elwing’s house, and while thanks to Arwen she could ride in skirts, Tindomiel was just as happy not to. As they drew close to their destination, they could hear the sound of many voices raised in song and cheerful greetings.

Tindomiel grinned as they finally reached the area where those who had travelled any distance to join the festivities were leaving their horses. Their four horses trotted off to join the others while the five young elves made their way onto the sands, where they found a good many Sindar were milling about.

Several people waved to Eärsuro, but more than a few glanced quizzically at Anairon’s clearly Noldorin features and Tas’s hair – red was not found at all among the Lindar, and only rarely among the Sindar. Tindomiel noted several people staring at her as well, and realized that if she looked like Anairë, presumably her features might also read as Noldorin to those who did not know who she was.

A tall silver-haired Sinda intercepted them.

“Well met, Eärsuro Eärlindion,” he greeted them. “You are welcome here. Will you introduce me to your companions?”

It was not really a request.

Tindomiel tried not to giggle.

She’s heard Thranduil in a snit about haughty stiff-necked Golodhrim before – he had at least _started_ politely –  so she recognized that this ellon was trying to subtly figure out why there were a bunch of Noldor crashing a Sindarin party.  (Which, technically there sort of were, since she’s the only Sinda in this group, and a stealth Sinda at that.)

Eärsuro sighed.

He’d been hoping they could just blend in – and so had Tindomiel. She thought it might be nice to just be normal for a change. She’s never really had that, between the California thing and being one of the only elflings left in Middle Earth, and so far she’s not quite normal here in Aman either.

“Lord Oropher,” Eärsuro replied with a polite bow – but that was as far as he got.

“Oropher?” all three girls demanded simultaneously.

“Like, Uncle Thranduil’s father Oropher?” Tindomiel squeaked.

Oropher’s brows flew up.

“Uncle?” he asked softly, his eyes warming.

“Lord Oropher,” Eärsuro tried again, with a pointed look at his younger cousin, “may I present Tindomiel Elrondiel, her kinswomen Tasariel and Califiriel Glorfindiel, and her kinsman Anairon Fingolfinion?”

Tindomiel had to admire the cleverness of that answer. Putting her first meant Oropher had mostly tuned out by the time he mentioned Anairon.

“Little Elrond’s daughter?”

One more thing that would take getting used to – she was now living among people who could in all seriousness refer to her father as ‘little Elrond’.

Oropher must have known what she was thinking by the look on her face, because he laughed.

“I am old enough to have called my cousin Luthien little, young one,” he told her. “But stories of ages past will wait until another time. Tonight is for celebrating. You and your kin are most welcome here.”

“Thank you, Lord Oropher,” her companions said, with bows all around.

“Go, young ones, let Eärsuro make you known to others your own age. Tindomiel, stay with me a while.”

Tindomiel waved as her cousins headed further down the beach to a firepit where a barbeque was in progress and tried not to look too wistfully at the food.

“Tell me, young Tindomiel, how is it you call my son ‘uncle’?” Oropher asked, steering her gently in a different direction with an arm around her shoulders. “I did not think he and your father were particularly close, and he is definitely cousin, not brother to your mother.”

She shrugged.

“We didn’t have a lot of kin around, and he was more like an uncle than a cousin. Also, Glorfindel says he’s the only person who has ever successfully scolded Anariel.”

She decided not to add ‘and the only one who’s ever made her go home when she didn’t particularly want to’. As far as she knew, it hadn’t been until just before the Ring War that her sister had forgiven Thranduil for sending her home under guard after the dragon incident.

“Did he now? We have heard of your sister’s adventures,” Oropher murmured, sounding less than pleased.

“She’s fine,” Tindomiel said automatically, addressing what had so far been the usual concern about her sister.

Oropher frowned, but chose not to respond to that. Instead, he shifted the topic of conversation.

“Is that why my cousin Celeborn lingers on the Hither Shores though his mate has sailed? To look after your sister?”

Tindomiel sighed.

“I don’t know that you’d call it ‘looking after’ exactly,” she said, trying not to let too much of her concern show. Her sister will flip out if there’s a huge crowd waiting for her all worried about her mental health whenever she arrives. And unlike her and Cali and Tas, Anariel’s _always_ going to stand out. “More like ‘helping her get over the War’.”

“But we are to expect her and your brothers in time?” Oropher asked cautiously.

“Definitely,” Tindomiel replied. “They stay only as long as Arwen does.”

She did not need to explain that could not last forever. The choice of the Evenstar was already known throughout Aman. Arwen had written her kin with the news herself, even before they sailed.

“And what of my son and his son?” Oropher asked.

Tindomiel grinned. That was easy enough to answer.

“They will sail too, though they may sail separately,” she told him.

She’s not sure about Oropher’s views on dwarves, so she’ll wait until she knows more to tell him the full story of how Thranduil flatly refuses to share a ship with Gimli son of Gloin, hero of the Ring War, Lord of Aglarond, kin to the King Under the Mountain, friend to Galadriel and drinking buddy to Anariel though he may be.

Oropher brought her to a small knot of grown Sindar who were sitting below the dunes. It was a mixed group, ellyn and ellith, some eating, others tuning instruments. They all looked curiously at her as she and Oropher approached.

“Uncle,” Oropher called gently. “Be known to your descendant Tindomiel, the youngest granddaughter of Elwing.”

Tindomiel blinked. She had not expected to find still more family here, but the startled ellon who rose at once, an excited elleth at his side, looked very like her grandfather.

“Tindomiel, this is your grandmother’s grandfather, Galathil, son of Elmo, and his wife Faenil.”

“Grandmother, grandfather,” she greeted them, as her grandmother’s grandparents embraced her like she was their own child.

“Welcome, little one,” Faenil said, drawing back to look her full in the face.

Tindomiel finally had an answer to where she got her hair from – Galathil’s wife had hair in a similar shade, though slightly lighter. Where the firelight touched Tindomiel’s hair with highlights of gold, Faenil’s glinted with a paler, silvery sheen. Galathil himself had the same silver hair as his nephews Celeborn and Oropher.

The introductions were not yet over, for not only Oropher’s wife Lothuial, but Thranduil’s Calelassien were part of this group, and Tindomiel was nearly as excited to meet Thranduil’s mother and wife as she was to meet her grandparents. She wondered if Elwing had known that they would all be here.

She was invited to sit with them, and found she had missed nothing by not going to the firepit, for there were platters piled high with food which she was entreated to serve herself from – she felt like her grandparents would have been upset if she _didn’t_ eat.

As she nibbled at the various dishes, her kin took it in turns to pose gentle questions – mostly about herself, but also a few about Thranduil and Legolas, and one or two about her brothers and sisters as well.

Only when she was finished eating did they begin to sing, first softly and then stronger, the music swelling with emotion when it became clear that she recognized what they were singing and could join in.

At least, she could join in around the tears, because this is the first time she’s ever been able to sing her lineage with her _elders_ , not just Celeborn.

Celeborn had taught her this song, just as he’d taught every single one of his daughter’s children – who were complicated to teach, for they traced not just one line back to Elmo and Celebressil, but two, one through each parent. To her and her siblings, it has only ever been history, but to the kin she sang with now, there was living memory in the music – and longing, waiting for the ages-old sundering of their kin to be at an end.

But this time the song went beyond what she had been taught. It did not stop with her mother and father as it did when Celeborn sang it – there were new verses she did not know: one for her brothers, the twin hunters, who fought the shadow for many years and would not be parted but go into the West together. One for her sister Arwen, the heiress of Luthien, who had chosen for love to follow her foremother beyond the circles of the world, lost to her kin for all time. One for her sister Anariel, the fearless princess and dauntless protector of her people. And one for _her_ , the daughter of the morning twilight, the latest light given to the line of Elmo, whose great deeds were yet to be sung.


	12. Learning To Fly

Even when her grandparents told her to run along and enjoy herself with the other young folk after several hours sitting with them, Tindomiel wasn’t entirely sure if she should.

“Worry not, little one. Go,” Galathil told her. “This will hardly be the only time you see us. We will visit little Elwing soon. Not to mention, I rather doubt my uncle will be terribly patient about wanting to see his youngest descendant.”

Tindomiel guessed by ‘uncle’ he didn’t mean Olwë. She had no idea when her parents planned on getting around to visiting wherever the main court of the Sindar was. (They might all be elves, but none of her relatives were proving to be very patient – everyone was anxious for their turn to see her and her parents.)

All the same, she couldn’t quite repress the smile at hearing her father’s mother called ‘little’,  not to mention the thought of what they’d call Anariel if Elwing was ‘little’. She took her leave of them with a round of hugs before she went in search of her cousins.

She found the four of them among a knot of young elves – young meaning ranging from Califiriel and Tasariel’s age to somewhat older than Eärsuro. It was a merry group, singing and dancing at the edges of the surf.

Tas was the first to spot her, and waved her over with a huge smile on her face.

“Tinu! At last! We wondered if you got lost! We know many of the same songs!”

Tindomiel snickered. They should know many of the same songs. The songs of the Noldor were, much like Quenya itself, a matter of lore and study in Middle Earth, not much used in daily life. Sindarin was what they spoke, and what they sang.

There was a swift round of introductions, and it turned out a few of the younger elves were distant cousins and as excited to meet their Endor-born kin as she was to meet them.

But they quickly returned to what they had been doing before Tindomiel arrived, singing to the sea and the stars, laughing and dancing and joking. And in Tas and Cali’s and even Tindomiel’s case, marveling at something they’d never experienced before – being completely and utterly _normal_ young elves.

This was something her older siblings had all had growing up – ok, all of them except Anariel, but even she had grown up surrounded by others her own age in California, and been fairly normal until she was Called. The twins and Arwen had all been born at a time when Imladris was filled with people, and elflings had been running rampant all over the valley.

Tindomiel has been quietly envious of their stories for quite a few years.  Not that she had ever lacked for attention, or people willing to make time for her, no matter where she found herself. But that was not the same as having real peers – other elves her own age.

It was _nice_ to be part of a group.

The moon was high in the sky when suddenly one of the young ellyn pointed at the sea.

“Look!”

Tindomiel’s jaw dropped.  

The full moon was larger and clearer than she was used to seeing it in Middle Earth, and the sky was studded with stars. Below them, the sea itself was glowing, soft greens and blues rippling and twirling beneath the surface. It took her a moment to realize that she was seeing a school of bioluminescent fish darting around just beyond the breakers.

“Wow!” Cali breathed, her eyes going wide at the sight.

“Come on!” Eärsuro called gleefully.

The young Linda was already waist deep in the surf, and it took only a few seconds for the Sindarin kids to follow, giggling and shedding their clothes as they dashed toward the water.

Tindomiel herself was halfway there when she remembered to check on her very proper Noldorin cousin.

Sure enough, Anairon had hesitated. Removing his tunic didn’t seem to bother him, but he still had his leggings on and was watching the others uncertainly.

“You can leave your underpants on, no one will care,” Tindomiel told him. “It’s not like nudity is a requirement. But wet leggings will be pretty uncomfortable on the ride back to my grandmother’s.”

She was pretty sure Anairon’s flaming cheeks could rival the sunset earlier, but with her waiting patiently and obviously not going in without him, he did finally peel off his leggings and follow her reluctantly in.

Tindomiel would have happily paddled out to the deeper water where she could see the others laughing and splashing, playing a merry game of tag among the glowing fish darting around them, but Anairon stopped where the water was only chest deep.

“Come on, it’s not rough seas or anything,” Tindomiel encouraged him.

He muttered something she couldn’t hear.

She sighed and switched to Quenya.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I’ve never been swimming in the ocean before,” he explained haltingly. “I don’t think I should go out so far.”

Tindomiel blinked.

She hadn’t gone swimming in the ocean very often before the voyage West, but she had done it once or twice when she lived in Sunnydale, and it wasn’t all that different than swimming in lakes or streams or wherever the Noldor swam in Tirion.

She couldn’t quite understand how Anairon could be the same age as her and have done so little. She’s the one who’s spent her life on the side of the ocean where just leaving the protection of her father’s valley or her grandmother’s forest realm was a risk, yet somehow he’s the one who’s been living in a bubble.

“Ok,” she said slowly. “But you _can_ swim, right?”

He nodded.

“I’ve only ever swum in pools before,” Anairon said in embarrassment. “There were no waves there.”

She reached out without thinking, but withdrew instantly when she realized his mind was equal parts mortification that he looked so incompetent in her eyes – especially since Tas and Cali were splashing happily with the others, despite being the youngest ones there – and miserable certainty that his older brothers would not have had such a problem.

“All right,” Tindomiel said, thinking fast. “So come out where the rest of us are. It will be safer that way – if you stand here by yourself, no one will notice if you get knocked down or pulled under by a wave. But with all of us to help you, you’ll be fine.”

He expression was nervous, but at her encouraging look, he gathered his courage and kept pace with her. The waves were gentle, but even so he looked unnerved by them, to the point that Tindomiel finally grabbed his hand. She was a competent enough swimmer that she didn’t need both hands to keep herself moving forward, and the surf wasn’t anywhere near rough enough that they would need to duck under.

With her steering, they made better time, and to her relief, none of the others seemed to think it odd that they had fallen behind. When they were closer to the others, she reached for Eärsuro. She hadn’t tried to speak to him with osanwë before, but she was pretty sure that she could manage it this close.

 _Can you help me keep an eye on Anairon?_ she asked. _He’s not a strong swimmer._

Her Lindar cousin glanced over and nodded, subtly working his way closer.

Tindomiel wasn’t really that worried. Anairon was just nervous. With two of them watching him, he’d be safe and get a chance to build up some confidence. Sure, she would have liked to frolic as freely as the Sindar or Tas and Cali were doing. But the smile on her cousin’s face when he got close enough to see the fish swimming around him was worth it.

Besides, she was totally teaching him to swim for real tomorrow.


End file.
